


fic requests fills

by amfiguree



Category: Backstreet Boys, NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 25,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amfiguree/pseuds/amfiguree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>exactly what the title says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. justin gets an advance copy of nick's new solo album

Nick's not expecting a huge reciprocal gesture - hell, Nick isn't sure what he's expecting at all, but it's nothing as extravagant as a diamond-encrusted watch, or a year's supply of Calvin Klein cologne, or a skyscraper built in his name.  
  
But that's exactly what he gets.  
  
"I'm going to need you to sign for this, sir."  
  
"But it's a _building_ ," Nick says disbelievingly, each syllable drawn out slow and careful.  
  
"That's right."  
  
"Like--an actual _building_."  
  
"It's eight levels high," UPS guy - Mark - says, still holding out his pen. "You should really take a look at these floor plans."   
  
Nick balks. "What the _fuck_."  
  
  
  
Nick spends the next three hours eyeing the blueprints like they're radioactive toxins. He's got them rolled up on his kitchen table, next to the watch and seven bottles of cologne that came before them. From anyone else, he'd laugh it off as a practical joke, but--  
  
It's mostly a relief when his cell phone lights up and Justin's name appears on the screen.  
  
Mostly.  
  
"Hey," Nick says, warily.  
  
"Hey," Justin says. "So I talked to the dude from the construction company today and he said they're ready to start work once they get the go-ahead. Have you looked at the plans?"   
  
"Uh," Nick says. "Yeah. About that."  
  
There's a second of silence. "You don't like them?"  
  
Justin sounds so stricken that Nick feels a wisp of guilt curl in his stomach. "No, that's not--just, man, it's kind of overkill, you know?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"J," Nick says. "I'm not saying I'm not glad to put the whole N'sync-Backstreet crap behind us, but this is too much. I mean, what's next? A constellation in my name?"  
  
There is an awkward, telling pause. "Uh," Justin says eventually. "So I should probably nix that plan."   
  
"Justin," Nick says, weakly. "It was an _album_."  
  
"Hey," Justin says. "It was an _awesome_ album."  
  
"Yeah, well," Nick laughs, ducking his head as he rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "Still doesn't mean this isn't overkill."   
  
"Huh," Justin says, after a moment. "How d'you feel about dinner and drinks?"  
  
"Oh, Justin," Nick says, voice pitched high and breathy. "Dial down the romance. I'm about to swoon."  
  
"Nick," Justin says, very patiently. "I just bought you a star. Dinner and drinks is about as dialed down as I get."  
  
Nick blinks. Then he blinks some more. "Oh," he says eventually. "Well--as long as you promise not to propose in public, I guess."  
  
Justin laughs, then, but the relief in his voice is pretty hard to miss. "I think I can manage that."


	2. bad mary-sue justin/nick sparklecasted in taylor swift's sparks fly

It was thunder-storming when the doorbell rang that night (not, the hero of this story reflected, unlike his dark mood).  
  
Nick looked up from the latest re-run of Golden Girls on his TV anyway, scowling. "Whatever you're selling," he said, voice pitched to carry, "I'm not buying! So you can just--"  
  
"Nick?"   
  
Nick gasped, clutching one hand to his chest. He would have to be deaf not to recognize that voice. It was a voice he knew would haunt his dreams every night for the rest of his life. But--it couldn't be.  
  
"Nick, please! I know you're in there."  
  
...Could it?  
  
Cautiously, Nick ventured to the door, steeling himself before throwing it open. It _was_ Justin, standing on his front porch, drenched through from the pouring rain. He was dressed in a tuxedo, hair tousled and falling into his eyes, and when he broke into a smile, the sight of him stole Nick's breath away.   
  
"Nick," Justin said, beaming at him, and Nick felt his heart tug in his chest. But he couldn't give in, not now, not when Justin had already broken his heart and tossed the remains like poppy seeds scattered in the wind.  
  
"What are you doing here?" he demanded, folding his arms to better resist the urge to take Justin into them. "You're supposed to be getting married! They were doing 24-hour live coverage on E!."  
  
"I know, I know," Justin said, but he didn't try to move closer, giving Nick the space he needed. He'd always understood how to give that to Nick, which made Nick even more certain they were soul mates, even if Justin was trying his level-best to deny it. "I was at the church, at the altar, waiting for my bride, and I just--" Justin trailed off, shaking his head. "I couldn't do it, Nick. I couldn't go through with it. When she walked through the doors, I looked up... but all I could see was you."  
  
Justin's eyes were dark and mesmerizing, and Nick felt as though he might drown in them. "Please," Justin said, quieter, "Please, Nick, I know I don't deserve it, but - I love you. I can't stand being away from you. Give me one more chance. I'll prove I'm worthy of it, I swear."  
  
Nick stared at him long and hard, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions wracking his body. They'd been so in love until Justin had decided to throw it all away for the sake of appearances, for _normality_ , and Nick knew he would never love again, not the way he'd loved Justin. Justin had torn him apart, broken him so he'd been nothing more than a shell of the man he used to be. How could Nick open his heart again now? It wasn't possible, not when all it had done in the past was cause him heartache and pain.   
  
"Fuck you," Nick said, at last, voice cracking as he watched Justin's expression crumbled. "Fuck you, you self-important, egotistical _asshole_."   
  
And then he flew at Justin, wrapping his arms around Justin's neck as he kissed him deeply and passionately, plundering his mouth with all the longing he had held in for the last seven months. Justin stumbled a few steps, but quickly righted himself, and soon he was kissing Nick back just as desperately, matching Nick's ardor with his own, and it was like nothing had changed at all. Nick's heart _did_ mend, and all the pain he'd suffered was forgotten as quickly as a charged bolt of lightning streaking across the sky.   
  
All around them, the rain continued to fall, but Nick barely noticed, too swept up in the heat of Justin's mouth, the warmth of Justin's skin, the feel of Justin's hair between his fingers.  
  
"God, I missed you," Justin whispered when they pulled apart, the tender words belying the way his hands were wrapped around Nick's arms, hard and possessive. It sent a thrill up Nick's spine, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to have Justin in his bed, naked and _needy_.  
  
"I missed you too," Nick whispered back, and when Justin smiled, eyes bright and wild, he was captivating, like watching the fireworks display at a Fourth of July parade.  
  
"I love you," Justin murmured, and Nick thought his face would split from the width of his smile. His heart felt as though it might _explode_. He couldn't imagine being happier than he was in this moment.   
  
"Come inside," he murmured as he curled his hand into Justin's. "And show me how much."


	3. aj and justin's first christmas together

AJ kind of fucking hates _firsts_. It's not the idea of it - he's never been a delicate snowflake - or what it could mean, nothing soppy like that, it's just--  
  
Fucking _Justin_.  
  
Justin and his high-maintenance, obsessive-compulsive need to make all firsts _special_ , no matter how ridiculous they are. And AJ's not exactly a low-key kind of guy himself, but Justin makes him look like the lowest A on your regular 88-key piano.   
  
Like at Thanksgiving, when Justin had enlisted his help to move his five thousand pairs of shoes to his car  
  
("Jesus," AJ remembers saying, "Do you have to take _all_ your shoes home for the holidays? Your luggage weighs a ton."  
  
"Don't judge. What would I have to be thankful about without them?")  
  
and it had turned out to be an elaborate ploy to keep AJ out of his house while a party planning SWAT team helped to do it up for a surprise early Thanksgiving dinner. Justin had personally seen to the cooking that evening, and almost set AJ's kitchen on fire when he brought _a flaming Bombe Alaska_ into the room for dessert.   
  
Explaining that to the authorities had not been AJ's idea of a good night.  
  
Thing is, though, it's not like AJ's unappreciative of the effort. It may be stupid as fuck, but it's kind of sweet, the amount of thought and planning that Justin puts into all of it. Still. There's something to be said for a nice, quiet evening that doesn't involve flaming surprises or fireworks or a thirty-piece marching band (and the accompanying fine he'd been slapped with for noise pollution).   
  
"Okay," he says, once Justin's pulled into his driveway. "Lay it on me. What am I about to walk into here?"   
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Justin says, loftily.  
  
"Uh huh," AJ says. "We celebrated the anniversary of our first meeting. In _Germany_. With a horse-drawn carriage. This is our first Christmas together. I might actually pass out if you don't tell me."  
  
Justin laughs a little, at that. "Nothing's going on here," he says, as he gets out of his seat. "I swear."   
  
"Sure," AJ says, shaking his head. He makes Justin go into the house first, just in case. But all that greets them is an empty room - empty of decorations, at least, the furniture is still in place - with the exception of a Christmas tree set up in a corner, and Christmas music playing over the speakers Justin had wired up all around the house when he first moved in.

"Merry Christmas," Justin says, grinning at the look on AJ's face.

AJ maps a slow circle in the middle of the room, eyebrow raised in disbelief. "This is it?" he says.

"This is it," Justin affirms.

"Huh," AJ says. "No surprise Christmas party? No private jet to Maui? No room in the Hilton with a view of Time Square? All right, Timberlake. What's the catch?"

"No catch," Justin says, smiling as he steps into AJ's space, crowding him against the back of his sofa as he presses their foreheads together. "This is it."

"Hmm," AJ says, but he leans up into Justin anyway, parts his lips when Justin kisses him, slow and tender, the affection sweeping through him warming him like the best kind of eggnog. Then Justin's working a hand up under his shirt, bending him all the way back over the couch, and AJ goes easily enough, sliding into the couch when Justin pushes him too far, their mouths fused the entire time, and--

That's when he feels the petals.

He breaks away to groan, "Oh, God," and doesn't even have to look to know they're roses, blood-red and scattered all over the couch, the floor, his own path of yellow bricks down the familiar road to Justin's bedroom.

Justin's laughing when AJ finally chances a look, and -- yep, candles and rose petals and confetti line the floor, dotted by an endless trail of gifts, all wrapped in heart-shaped boxes, _the season loves the reason for romance, it'll get you if you give it half a chance_ playing in the background. "Oh, God," AJ says, again, and then Justin's climbing onto the couch too, on top of him, and they're both laughing.

"That's it," Justin says, when they've finally caught their breath. "I swear, that's all I did. I couldn't _not_. It's our first Christmas together."

AJ rolls his eyes from where he's tucked under Justin, chest to hip to thigh. He doesn't even try to get away, just leans into Justin's touch when Justin presses a finger to his jaw, shakes his head. "Merry Christmas," he says, and huffs another laugh. "You fucking romantic."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Justin says, but he's grinning as he runs his hands down AJ's side and reaches for the hem of his shirt. "Keep saying that like it doesn't turn you on."


	4. Honi secret santa gone wrong

It's later that night, and Nick's just sitting in his hotel room in the dark, contemplating the merits of suffocation by pillow (slow, painful, and completely _not_ glamorous) versus jumping out the window (four storeys up doesn't seem enough to do substantial damage).   
  
Not, Nick decides murderously, that it really matters, either way, because if he leaves his room again, he'd probably die of embarrassment on the spot. Jesus Christ, secret santas are really, really bad ideas. Like, _really_ hideously bad.  
  
Which he probably should have seen coming, considering the fact that he'd been the one to suggest it. And considering the fact that AJ had immediately backed him up. Those are tell-tale signs of disaster waiting to strike, right there.  
  
And, if that hadn't been clear enough, there'd also been the matter of the gift mix-up. Nick doesn't even know how it happened - there are only _four fucking presents_ \- but apparently the cards fell off on the bus ride over to the hotel, and they'd all grabbed whatever had been closest before they'd gathered in Howie's room, around the tiny makeshift tree Howie had decorated specifically for the exchange. Nick had lagged behind a little, talking to one of the crew members, and when he'd finally gotten to the room--  
  
They'd been gathered around the TV set, and Nick only had a second to register the scene before Brian had noticed him in the doorway, and scrambled for the remote to turn it off. "Uh," he'd said.   
  
"Nick," Howie'd said, very quietly.  
  
AJ'd been bent in half in his chair, laughing too hard to respond.  
  
"Oh God," Nick said, and grabbed the DVD and _fled_.   
  
"A _sex tape_ ," he'd heard AJ wheeze. "Holy shit."   
  
Which is how he'd ended up here, alone on Christmas in a hotel room, with nothing but a stupid self-made sex tape for company. _Awesome_.   
  
There's a knock on his door, then, and a quiet: "Nick?"  
  
Of course it's Howie, Nick thinks, miserably, as he groans and buries his face in his pillow (the sheets smell clean and familiar; maybe suffocation isn't such a bad way to go). "I don't wanna talk, Howie."  
  
"Nicky," Howie says, and the knocking becomes more insistent. "Open up."  
  
Nick tries holding his breath.  
  
"Nicky," Howie tries again. "I got a spare key from Housekeeping. If you don't let me in, I'll just do it myself."  
  
Nick huffs at that, dragging a hand through his hair as he sits up in bed. So much for that plan. He drags himself to the door, and greets Howie with a sigh when he opens the door. "If you're here to laugh--"  
  
"I'm not here to laugh," Howie says, offering Nick a small, private smile that makes Nick's pulse skip a beat. And that annoys Nick even more, because--fuck, he's not a fucking _girl_.  
  
"Okay," he says evenly. "What do you want?"  
  
"Well," Howie says. "I was wondering, do you have a minute? 'Cause I thought I'd come collect my gift from my real secret santa, seeing as I didn't actually get one before." His smile grows warmer, and Nick feels his skin involuntarily follow suit. "And I was kind of hoping you'd be up for a rewatch."  
  
It feels a little like Howie just pulled the rug right out from under him. "Oh," Nick hears himself say.  
  
Howie's laugh comes off as shaky as Nick feels. "Yeah, oh," he says, and pushes a parcel into Nick's hands. "You never opened your present either, by the way. Sorry about the, you know - it was wrapped, before, but AJ tore through it before I could stop him."  
  
The metal is cool in his hands, and Nick is dumbfounded for the second time in as many minutes. "You got me handcuffs," he says, dumbly.  
  
"Yeah," Howie agrees, and when his voice dips for a second, high and unsteady, Nick feels heat pool in his stomach. "So if you have that minute, I uh - I could come in and show you how to use them."  
  
"Uh," Nick says, faintly, as he steps aside to let Howie in. He's totally nixing the suicide plan. "Yeah. Yes. Okay."


	5. Arthur and Cobb extract information from JC

Arthur's seen more than his fair share of "strange" in his time. Hell, "strange" is a walk in the park after some of the things he's seen.   
  
But this?  
  
This is something else.   
  
"Arthur," Cobb says. He sounds warier than Arthur's ever heard him, save the job in Bosnia they'd taken with Eames that once to get the Chilean government off their back. "Is that--"  
  
"I see it too," Arthur says before Cobb can finish. His experience with unicorns is limited to _none at all_ , so he keeps his voice low.   
  
"And the--"  
  
"Yes," Arthur says, shortly. Because the slow-dancing couple under the disco ball in a corner of the room looks nothing like any kind of human Arthur's ever come across, and if he thinks too hard about the subconscious of someone whose projections manifest as slow-dancing _aliens_ \--  
  
"And _that_ \--" Cobb says.  
  
"Cobb," Arthur says, sharply, because he's certain he saw a tentacle somewhere in that mess - a _tentacle_ , Jesus fucking Christ - in all the colors of the goddamn rainbow, and sparkles to boot, but there are a pair of briefs and two sets of lacey underwear on the ground that would suggest the trio in the corner are blissfully okay with that.  
  
Cobb scrubs a hand over his mouth and shakes his head. "Okay, we're just going to stick to the plan, half an hour, in and out--"  
  
"Cobb," Arthur interrupts. Innuendo is almost physically painful in a landscape like this one. "I know what we're doing. Let's just go. And when we're done? We're not giving up the information without a pay raise."   
  
"We'd better start screening Nash's referrals," Cobb adds. "If Pearlman knew--"  
  
Unfortunately, Cobb never gets to finish his sentence, because the projections halt at the mention of their employer's name, and Arthur feels a shudder ripple down his spine at the discomfort of having fifty pairs of eyes trained on him.  
  
There's a sudden movement in the background, and Arthur barely has time to snatch his pistol from its holder before he's bound and flipped onto his back, his gun skittering uselessly out of his reach.  
  
"Jesus fucking Christ," Cobb grits out, and when Arthur looks over, Cobb's in a similar state, wrapped from shoulders to ankles in - in _tentacles_ , fuck.  
  
A huge blonde man looms over them, then, head tilted, and Arthur's just watching for the trajectory of his six remaining tentacles, trying to work out an angle that might get him the crucial few inches closer to his gun, when Cobb blurts, "You've got to be fucking kidding me."  
  
"What?" Arthur says.  
  
"That's Nick Carter," Cobb says, doing an admirable job of sounding matter-of-fact. "He's a Backstreet Boy."  
  
"What," Arthur says again.  
  
Cobb turns to glare at him, eyes narrowed into slits. "Philippa went through a boyband phase."   
  
Oh God, Arthur thinks as Nick Carter bears down on them. Asphyxiation via tentacles. By a boybander. Pearlman doesn't have enough money in the _world._


	6. LaNi dealing with in-laws

"Are you sure this is okay?" Lance asks, again. It must be the sixth millionth time.  
  
"Yep," Nick says, easily. He doesn't even look up from his comic book.  
  
"Really?" Lance presses. "Because - it's not like this was in the terms and conditions, you know." Neither is 'fucking your client every night', for that matter, but Nick seems more than happy to do that, too, and Lance isn't complaining. "I can cancel."  
  
Nick does look up this time. "Yeah," he says, through a laugh. "Because it's not weird at all that we've been married two months and I've never met your parents. Come on, Lance. It's cool, man. I'm good with parents. I promise."  
  
"Huh," Lance says, dubiously, but he goes willingly enough when Nick curls an ankle around his calf and tugs him forward. "Sure you are."  
  
"I'm a total charmer," Nick says, with a nod, and Lance can feel him grinning when he leans in to kiss him.  
  
  
  
Lance is convinced this is a bad idea the _second_ they get to his house. Stacey's out back, starting the barbecue, which leaves Lance without a mediator. Nick doesn't seem detered; he takes his mom's hand and shakes it, warmly, then goes for his dad's, and shakes his hand, too, firm. "Nice to finally meet you, ma'am. Sir."  
  
Lance physically winces when his dad nods, silently and turns away."Lance," he says, stiffly.  
  
"Hey dad," Lance says.  
  
There's a long, awkward moment of silence.  
  
"Food's burning!" Stacey yells, right on cue.  
  
  
  
Lance alternates between watching his mom watch his dad not eat his hotdog, and Nick cheerfully munching at his, nodding at whatever it is Stacey's telling him the entire way. His dad's face is stoic, and Lance only toys with his burger for a couple of minutes before giving up any pretense of actual hunger.  
  
He feels a hand on his knee, startles as he tries to look under the table discreetly. Nick doesn't even pause in his conversation, but he squeezes, gently, twice, and Lance relaxes, just a fraction.  
  
Then Lance's mom clears her throat. "How," she says, hesitantly. "How was the wedding?"  
  
Lance blinks. "Uh," he says. Seriously, _worst idea ever_.  
  
"Small," Nick prompts when Lance doesn't go on, looking across the table at her with a small smile. He doesn't remove his hand. "We just wanted to do something quiet."  
  
Where by quiet, Lance thinks, he really means an officiator, a lawyer, and both their signatures on the dotted line.  
  
"I see," his mom says. She's shredding a paper towel with her fingers. "I - I'm sorry we couldn't be there."  
  
Her voice is so small. Lance swallows, curls his fingers around Nick's. "Me too."  
  
His dad takes a bite of his hotdog.  
  
"Awesome," Stacey says, brightly, and claps her hands together. "Now that that's over with. Nick, tell us all about yourself."

 

Things get a little easier, after that. It's not ideal, but at least the conversation isn't filled with pregnant pauses anymore. Nick fabricates a story about how they met that doesn't involve classified ads or a pimp, and Lance talks about their first date like they've actually been on one. It shouldn't be, probably, and Lance feels a twinge of guilt every time he catches his mom's eyes on him, but it's actually kind of fun. And at least the story about redecorating the bedroom together isn't a lie (not really, because although Nick has a separate bedroom, he doesn't actually use it anymore).

  
Nick shoots him these _looks_ all evening, too, mouth curved in a devilish grin, like he's saying _what did I tell you?_ and _you so owe me_. His dad even cracks a smile at one of Nick's stories about his friends.

All in all, Lance considers the evening a win.

 

 

And then it's past midnight, and they're leaving, making promises to come back soon, and to call.

His mom takes him aside as Nick goes to grab their jackets, though, smiles and pushes a strand of hair out of his face. "He makes you happy, doesn't he, baby?"

Lance smiles back at her, a little, doesn't even put up a token protest as he glances across the room at where Nick's still busy arguing sports history with his dad. "Yeah," Lance says, contentedly, feeling his heartbeat notch, and--

Oh. Oh, _shit_. He's _in love with Nick_.

 

 

(Luckily, the panic only lasts till he blurts it out, and Nick, rolling his eyes through a laugh, rests his forehead against Lance's and murmurs, "Me too, dumbass. I said okay to _meeting your parents_. Duh, me too.")


	7. Nick's been pining for Howie

nick's been in love with howie for so long, sometimes he forgets. it's become just another one of those things he doesn't have to think about anymore, like breathing, muscle memory, that little ache that flares and fades every time howie comes into the room.  
  
(or, okay, he hasn't so much forgotten about it as he has learned to deal, because getting called on it by aj ("seriously, man, it's getting kind of pathetic."), brian ("nick, you know, if you ever want to talk--"), and kevin ("you could just _tell_ him. you're both adults. figure it out.") is something he could have done without, jesus. he's in no hurry to repeat that again.)  
  
the thing is, one of the other reasons nick's gotten used to being in love with howie is--well. he's kind of out of options, and he doesn't count on howie ever figuring things out. it's not like he's never tried flat-out telling him (and he doesn't care what kevin says, a drunken declaration is _just_ as valid as one made sober), and howie had just laughed, murmured, "aww, i love you too, nicky," and kissed his cheek before tucking him into bed.   
  
so yeah, that had gone well.  
  
plus he's all over howie _all the time_ , and howie just smiles and puts up with it, pats him on the head when nick nuzzles his cheek, or presses his face into his neck, and nick figures he needs to learn to be grateful.  
  
which is why this completely throws him.  
  
this being howie grabbing his wrist at aj's album launch party and tugging him into an empty room (which turns out to be the pantry, though they don't find that out till much, much later, and by then it's too late, because the food is _everywhere_ ).   
  
"what," nick begins, confusedly, when howie tugs the door shut behind them. and then howie's backing him up against the wall, hands warm on his skin, eyes even warmer, and _jesus_ , all the prep work in the world wouldn't have been able to stop his pulse from skipping, or to stop his stomach from knotting, so tight he loses his breath, or to stop his throat from closing in on itself, from choking down _oh god, please_ and _howie_ , and _i want--_  
  
so it's kind of a relief when howie leans up and crushes their mouths together.  
  
it's hot and wet and dirty, tongue and teeth clicking as nick fists his hands in howie's shirt and reels him even closer. it's nothing like nick thought it would be, and that makes it better somehow, makes it--  
  
he blinks when howie pulls away, seconds later, blows out a breath when howie rests their foreheads together and says, fondly exasperated, "you should've _said_ something, idiot."  
  
and nick isn't expecting that at all, either.  
  
it's okay, though, he thinks, as he laughs and yanks howie in again. he can definitely get used to this.


	8. Overture

_i._  
  
A boy walks onto the bus. His hair flounces, streaks of yellow among brown, hanging like curtains down the side of his face. That's the first time Lance sees JC.  
  
He has headphones plugged into his ears, and he's bouncing his head to the beat, sort of humming-breathing the music like he's losing control to the rhythm.  
  
"Hi," he says, as he slides into the seat next to Lance, pulling out his left earplug. It dangles from his ear like a fascinating sliver of thread, and Lance studies that instead of the bright, bright smile on his face.  
  
"Hi," he says, back. It's a moment before he remembers his manners, and a slow half smile peeks through the startling green of his eyes. "I'm Lance Bass."  
  
"JC Chasez," the boy grins back, enigmatic, and he twirls the headphone loosely between his fingers. "Wanna hear?"  
  
By the time the bus turns into the corner before the school comes into view, Lance thinks David Bowie is his new favorite recording artiste.  
  
  
 _ii._  
  
Lance doesn't believe in luck. He sits in class, almost bored, and when the teacher announces that they're going to do group work, he rolls his eyes. With his luck, he'll end up with Nick Carter, class dunce. Or worse.  
  
"Lucky break, huh?" Lance blinks, and looks up, and he raises an eyebrow in disbelief when he realizes who it is.  
  
"You're kidding," he crows, lips curving upwards. "Maybe Shakespeare will actually be bearable."  
  
JC slides into the empty seat next to Lance, shrugging, even though he's got that twinkle in his eyes that Lance knows better than his own. "I got you to like Bowie, remember? Shakespeare's not half that bad."  
  
Lance remembers the smile on JC's face, all those years ago, the day they met on the bus, and it's there again, now, still bright and open and warm, and if his heartbeat kicks up a couple of notches, he's attributing it to Shakespeare's excitable reading material.  
  
  
 _iii._  
  
Lance has never had a problem with his sexuality. He kissed a girl called Meredith when he was six -- or, well, Meredith knocked him over and kissed him so hard he thought she'd sucked his lungs out -- and he's never tried it since.  
  
He's never wanted to.  
  
His parents knew, instinctively, and after months of ignoring it, they tackled it head on. They asked questions and offered help -- counselling, even -- and Lance said no, very calmly, to each suggestion.  
  
Now his mom knows not to ask questions like, "have you met any nice girls lately, Lance?" unless she wants a patented smirk and an even snarkier answer.  
  
But that doesn't stop her from asking, "who are you taking to the prom, Lance?" even though she might have shrunk back a little from the intensity of his glare.  
  
  
 _iv._  
  
So he brings it up, very casually, when they meet up to do their project. In between listening to JC gush about Romeo and Juliet, he throws out random names, like Michael Jackson, and Al Pacino, and then finally he blurts it out without entirely meaning to.   
  
"Do you have anyone to go to the prom with?"  
  
JC looks at him, frowning. "That's not what Romeo s--oh."  
  
Lance nearly throws himself against the wall. "I heard Justin mention you hadn't asked anyone. Yet."  
  
"I wasn't going to," JC says breezily, with a smile, and then his nose is tucked back into Shakespeare.  
  
"Oh," Lance hopes he doesn't sound too dejected. He buries his face back in his copy of Shakespeare, too.  
  
  
 _v._  
  
"Good evening, Mrs Bass." Lance would recognize that voice anywhere. He bolts upright from where he's lying on his bed covers, listening intently. "Is Lance in?"  
  
Padded footsteps, and Lance knows his mom knows he's heard every word. He nearly falls out of bed in his haste to reach the bedroom door. Backtracking to the mirror, he smooths his hair down, and tries to wipe the goofy smile off his face before lunging for the stairs.  
  
He skids to a stop, strolling down the last few steps. "Hey, Jace," he smiles.  
  
"If you hurry, we'll make it to the prom in time." JC's smile is infectious, and Lance doesn't bother trying to hide his delight. He flings his arms around JC, quick and tight. That's all he wants to hear.  
  
  
 _vi._  
  
They don't go to the prom.  
  
They walk and they talk for hours, and hours. It's comfortable and it's friendly, and when Lance asks, "why didn't you ever say?" JC just shrugs, "I thought you'd figure it out."  
  
They have their first kiss that night. It's JC's _first_ kiss, and it's the first that's mattered to Lance. He supposes that evens them out.  
  
JC's lips are warm and soft and his hair tickles Lance's cheek. Their bodies are pressed close, and they close their eyes, like they've been taught, and it feels like the moment passes in the eternity of a heartbeat.  
  
It's not quite all that Lance expected -- there are no fancy moves, or fireworks, or stars dancing dizzily around his head, but there's a smile on his face, and when JC slips his hand into Lance's, there's a smile on his face, too.


	9. Drive

There's a familiar tapping at the window, and it shakes you awake, even though there isn't a pattern to it, and it isn't loud enough to alarm you.  
  
You pull the curtains open, and move to open the window, narrowly avoiding being hit by a pebble that pelts into your room. "Come down!" he calls, once he sees you're awake.  
  
You climb out the window, thoughtlessly, tracking a familiar route till you've slid down the tree, and you're looking up into his grinning face as he stands triumphantly before you. You're not sure what he's done this time, or what he's going to do, but there's a thrill factor in the fevered racing of your pulse.  
  
"Hop on," he laughs at the stunned look on your face. you've only just realized he's on his bike, helmet strapped on his head and all, revving up the engine on the small dirt path.  
  
"Chris," you let out a short huff of breath, almost a shocked laugh, but not. "Are you crazy?"  
  
"I thought you loved me," he smirks. "C'mon, babe. It'll be fun."  
  
You get on, after a moment. And as he drives off, you pray he's not going to try to perform a stunt worthy of the Guiness Book of World Records. Knowing Chris, you'd be lucky if you survived.  
  
"I've got something to tell you," you can barely hear the words above the roaring of the wind, and you pull yourself closer to him as he drives you both onto the freeway, resting your cheek against his back. His steady heartbeat thrums against your hands, folded over his chest, and Chris is warm and solid beneath your body.  
  
"What is it?" you ask, pressing closer to him.  
  
He doesn't say anything, for a long moment, only lifts one hand from the steering to grip yours. "Something important to me."  
  
You close your eyes, smiling. He sounds incredibly delighted, and that's always been infectious.  
  
Then you feel yourself tilting, and your stomach does flip-flops as you grab onto him tighter. "Chris!" you scream, your voice hoarse, "Chris, what the hell are you doing?!"  
  
"I'm taking you for a ride!" he laughs as you yelp, gunning the engine. The bike balances precariously on it's back wheel, and you think if he tips it anymore, you'll fall off, and onto the road. Your fingerss dig into his skin, mercilessly, and you press your face into his shirt.  
  
Then there's a jolt and the world rights itself, but you hold your breath. In the next moment, he's turning, a sharp corner, and you let out a breathless scream. You can almost feel the heat of the road, and you shudder as you imagine the sharp rocks tearing through your skin if the bike falls.  
  
"What *is* it?" You shriek, knowing that if he gets it out, there won't be the pent up energy.  
  
He laughs, long and loud, and you're thankful you're on a straight road. "I'm doing a solo album!"  
  
For a minute, you don't think you've heard right, and the flurry of cars passes by you in a blur as you stare unseeingly out into the night sky. "*What?*"  
  
"It's true!" you can hear the giddy delight in his voice, raw and untainted. "I start recording next week."  
  
A smile of disbelief splits your face, and you squeeze him, tightly. He crows loudly, and you can feel his pride emanating through his very being.  
  
"Guess what?" he says, then.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'm naming my album after you."


	10. Schizophrenic

You watch him pace, his fingers nervously combing through his hair, over and over again. "What if they hate it?" He bites his thumbnail, distress painted clearly on his face. "What if they reject my album, and send all the copies back?"  
  
"I don't think they're allowed to, babe," it's hard, fighting your laughter like this. It's not funny, it's really not, but JC can paint the strangest scenarios when he gets into his whole paranoid thing. "And I heard nothing but praise about 'Some Girls'."  
  
He glances out the open window, where the moon is blinking, drifting in and out of view from behind the clouds. JC's foot begins to bounce against the floor, and when he pads to sit next to you on the bed, his eyes are bright and there's a smile on his face.   
  
"People like my music," he says quietly, like it's some kind of revelation. "They wanna hear more. Just. I can't fucking wait for tomorrow to be here." His hands are still clenched, white-knuckled, in his lap.  
  
Your hand is warm on his knee, and for a moment, the jiggling stills, but then the bed is moving again beneath you, and you can't stop the smile that crosses your face, or the roll of your eyes. "Jace, it's gonna be great."  
  
"I'm not asking for success," he says honestly, apprehension streaking emotion in his eyes for a second, before it's clouded over, and fades. "Like I said, Justin's the star. I just. I hope people like the album."  
  
He chews on his bottom lip, becoming nervous all over again. "But, it's just, it's my style, and if they don't like it, then what do I do? I don't wanna have to change my style, I mean, *I* like my style, and. But--"  
  
You lean over to kiss the corner of his mouth, pressing a hand against his heart, feeling it stumble erractically beneath your palm. "I like your style, too."  
  
There's a possibility the album's going to bomb. You won't deny that -- he's not stupid enough to accept it even if you are. But it feels right, comfortable, when he slides his hand into your free one, squeezing gently, and you pull back to look him in the eyes and say, "you'll do fine."  
  
Wild fire dances in his eyes when he smiles, unadulterated ecstasy radiating from the corners of his uplifted mouth. "You think?"  
  
There's the bouncing leg again, and you stifle another smile. "You do."  
  
He bites a knuckle, the smile disappearing. "But that's not enough. It's not going to make anyone else like it."  
  
"I'll go out and buy every single album that's not already been snapped up next week, if it makes you feel better." You catch the laughter that he's trying so hard to hold back, almost hysteric, half grateful.  
  
He crawls over to bury his face in your neck, his lips warm on your skin, his arms sinewy and familiar around your waist. "Yes, please."  
  
You have to swallow your own laughter when you realize he's serious.


	11. Backstreet in a hitmen syndicate

Static.  
  
"Four minutes." Kevin.  
  
AJ adjusts his headset, surreptitiuously nodding. Kevin's got his back, probably beside Nick, with all twelve monitors staring them in the face, Nick's fingers working the keyboards, the steady 'plick' of keystrokes counting down the seconds.   
  
  
  
_Brain's eyes were cool steel as he showed AJ the route they would take. "Once he's out, you walk up to him. Don't dawdle. Keep the pleasantries to a minimum, and make sure the blood doesn't stain. D and I can only buy you a couple of minutes, Bone, but it should be enough for you to get him into the car. You'll have thirty seconds, max, to take a right turn. I'll be waiting with the van."_  
  
  
  
"Two minutes." Kevin cuts into AJ's thoughts, and AJ tenses slightly, his hands curled into fists in the shallow pockets of his tuxedo.  
  
Brian fights the urge to smile as he watches AJ fidget. "You're gonna crease the suit, jackass," he mutters, biting back another smile as AJ's head jerks up and he glares into the night. "Relax, you look fine."  
  
  
  
 _"Feel like a fucking idiot," AJ grumbled, as Brian nodded to the assistant and pointed to the suit AJ was wearing.  
  
"You look fine," Brian told him, without looking up from his wallet.  
  
Nick's fingers skimmed the back of AJ's hand. "You look *fine*," he whispered, with a wicked grin. "I'm gonna help Aje out of the suit, Frick. We'll be back in a few."  
  
Brian almost smiled as he heard the soft click of the dressing room door._  
  
  
  
"Half a minute, and shut the fuck up, Rok. You're distracting." Kevin's voice is curt, and Brian rolls his eyes.  
  
"Sir, yes, sir," Brian quips, and refocuses on the revolving glass doors to the Grand Hyatt. "Target sighted. Bone, go."  
  
AJ saunters out toward the entrance. He perfected his business walk years ago, and the bodyguards don't look at him twice as he holds his hand out to the Senator.  
  
  
  
"Let me go, you stupid fucks!" Justin struggles against the six pairs of hands fisting the back of his shirt. "So I killed a couple of plants, big deal. I lost control of my skateboard, man!"  
  
AJ turns away from the scene, looking back at the Senator. He takes a small step forward, and the barrel of his gun is pressed right up against skin.  
  
"What the--"  
  
 _Click_.  
  
  
  
Brian freezes when he doesn't hear a gunshot. "Fuck," he says, and two other voices echo the sentiment.  
  
He's out of his seat before he can change his mind.

 

 

Howie's elbow catches the jaw of one of his fellow workers, and he manages to knee another in the gut as Justin catches the other three on the head with a clever swing of his skateboard.   
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing with a gun?" Howie yells, as Justin takes off down the street. Howie keeps up easily, and when they round the corner he finds Justin already waiting for him.  
  
Pulling a wad of hundred-dollar bills out of his pocket, Howie hands them over to Justin. "Good job."  
  
"Yeah," Justin says with a grin, "you know where to find me next time."  
  
  
  
Nick sighs in relief as AJ slams the door shut, and the car revs the engine and leaves. He sees Howie return to the five fallen men in the monitor second from the left, and he turns to Kevin. "We done?"  
  
Kevin watches the screens for a second longer before he nods. "Get us out of here."  
  
  
  
"Come on," Brian says, as he yanks AJ toward the van. "You really are a fuckin' idiot. Your bullets?"  
  
AJ shrugs as he climbs into the vehicle, changing the subject. "How the hell's D supposed to get out of there?"  
  
"Doesn't have to." Brian watches AJ through the rear-view mirror. "You okay?"  
  
AJ nods, his eyes meeting Brian's in the mirror. There's silence, then, and Brian almost doesn't hear AJ's muttered 'thanks' as they roll to a stop outside Nick and AJ's apartment.  
  
  
  
"You guys okay?" Howie bends down to help Marshall up. It's too dark to really tell, but there's an angry red bruise already forming on Marshall's forehead.  
  
"Yeah, but shit. The kid really packs a punch. Did you get him?"  
  
Howie shakes his head, sighing. "Think the Senator's okay, though. We better file a police report anyway. Come on."  
  
  
  
 _No bullets. AJ pulled his gun back, and shoved it inside his jacket pocket, quickly. He was about to apologize, his mind already thinking up an excuse, but then the Senator reeled forward into AJ's arms._  
  
"Fuck!" AJ staggered slightly, but then he looked up, just in time to see the glint of Brian's gun as Brian slid back into the shadows.


	12. High-school AU JoeC

Joey slides into the seat next to JC, his lunch tray piled high with food.   
  
"What happened to the no-carbo diet? It's only day two." JC grins as Joey digs into his mashed potatoes and rice.  
  
Joey only waves him off dismissively. "So I owe you ten bucks. I'll hit the three day thing next time."  
  
JC laughs, and goes back to eating.   
  
Some days he thinks he should be jealous of Joey. He's only a freshman and he's already popular, despite the fact that he's in Drama. If JC joined Drama, his locker would be trashed for weeks. He's a year older than Joey is, so technically he should know more people, but there are a good number of students who still ask if he's new.  
  
JC never had it easy in school. All his time was spent dodging fists, cleaning the graffiti off his locker, and trying to ignore the fact that his haircut made all the girls stare--not in a good way. He never made it above an B grade average, no matter how hard he slogged, except his straight A record for music, which is his one true passion.   
  
But for Joey, everything is smooth sailing. He's a transfer student, but he's been at home here since day one. He has no qualms about making his passion for acting known, and even less problems getting the attention of anyone he wanted to get to know--JC included. Joey gets straight As on nearly every paper, without working nearly as JC, and the teachers adore him.  
  
JC has insecurity issues. Joey exudes self-confidence. JC never quite learnt the art of charm. Joey breathes it. JC had never been wooed before Joey. Joey'd experienced it enough that JC fell for him on their first date, and had JC wrapped around his little finger by their first kiss.  
  
JC's impatient, and has a bad temper. Joey is the most good-natured guy JC's ever met. JC starts most of their arguments. Joey ends every one, and manages to make JC feel bad every single time. The few friends JC had have all lost of forgotten his phone number. Joey's friends want to hang every night. JC's parents never want to see either of them again. Joey's parents ask them over for dinner every week.   
  
"Hey. Thinking something stupid again?" Joey's head is tilted when JC looks up, eyes soft, hand subtly brushing JC's.  
  
Really, JC has plenty of good reasons to be jealous of Joey.  
  
But it's moments like this that make that impossible.


	13. Hurty, alcoholic!AJ/Brian

AJ grins as he grabs Brian backstage, both of them dressed in their ridiculous costumes that weigh too much for scrap metal. "Five minutes till you're on," the stage manager yells at them, before he's off chasing Nick.  
  
"Hey," AJ says, grinning as he presses his forehead to Brian's.  
  
Brian smiles back, letting AJ slip his hand down his shirt. "You look hot."  
  
"I look like shit," AJ laughs, and Brian can feel it, like the rough quality of AJ's five o'clock shadow against his cheek. "Wanna stop by my room tonight?"  
  
Offering AJ a smile, Brian leans in to kiss him quick, before anyone can drag them away from each other. "Stupid question."  
  
"Mmm," AJ agrees, into Brian's mouth. And Brian's knees may be going weak, but no one else needs to know that. It's almost enough to keep him from saying, after AJ pulls away, "you've been drinking a lot lately."  
  
AJ's smile falters. But before he can reply, the stagehands are leading them towards the curtains. "Get your asses onstage!"  
  
  
Brian throws himself onto the bed, spread eagle. "I am exhausted. This tour was crazy. Remind me to quit this job once I make enough money."  
  
AJ makes a noncommittal noise, heading straight for the minibar. He pulls out the vodka, and pours himself a glass.  
  
"Hey," Brian says before he can stop himself, and he sits up. "Man, come here. Forget the drinks. We don't need them tonight."  
  
Downing the glass in one swallow, AJ raises an eyebrow as he turns to Brian. "Who're you kidding, Rok? It's the last day of the tour! Live a little."  
  
Brian doesn't lie down again, and he frowns as AJ downs another shot. "Aje, you really shouldn't--"  
  
But then AJ's mouth slides over his own, the strong tang of alcohol and all, and Brian doesn't have the heart to protest anymore.  
  
  
AJ sighs as Brian takes the liquor from him. "Rok--"  
  
"Come on, man, it's late. We should get back to the hotel." Brian glances at AJ, and hopes AJ can tell he's worried.  
  
"Go ahead," AJ says, waving him off dismissively. "I'll be back in a few."  
  
Brian rubs his temples. "Okay, but the alcohol's gotta stop, man. You're--this is--it's too much, Aje."  
  
AJ looks up at Brian, his eyes half-glazed, and he says, "fuck off, Bri." But he leans over and kisses Brian, still smiling, a little, like he thinks Brian's an idiot, and he reaches drunkenly for the bottle.  
  
"AJ." Brian shakes his head. "No. You're drunk. Come on, you're drinking too much, man."  
  
"What the _fuck_ do you know about too much?" AJ stands, suddenly, his chair scraping backwards noisily. "What the _fuck_ do you know, Brian?"  
  
Brian takes a step back, suddenly unsure. He doesn't know this AJ, and he's not sure what to do. "Alex," he tries, and retreats again when AJ swipes at his hand.  
  
"I'm done, man." AJ shakes his head, anger dissipating as he throws a couple of hundred dollar bills on the bartop. "I'm done here."  
  
  
"Fuck it, Brian! I'm not doing this with you again!"  
  
Brian flinches as AJ slams the door shut behind him. He looks at the shot glasses AJ left on the table, then turns away. It's too much. All of this. He doesn't know how to deal with it alone.  
  
He inhales, sharply, before reaching out for the phone and punching the numbers in. "Kev? I think AJ needs help."  
  
  
AJ's eyes are dark when he approaches Brian. "So that's it?"  
  
Brian tries not to notice the fact that AJ's fists are clenched by his side, that he's holding his body taut, like the time he punched Kevin for telling Nick that he could abso-fucking-lutely _not_ date Justin Timberlake, because their careers were too important.  
  
"You can't do it anymore, so I get sent into *rehab*?"  
  
Brian tries to reach for AJ, but AJ pulls back, sharp, and glares. Brian pauses, and his eyes aren't stinging with tears, and the effort it's taking to hold them back. "I love you," Brian says, quietly.  
  
"But not enough." AJ laughs, bitterly, "yeah, I got it."  
  
There's nothing Brian can say to that. He doesn't know the answer.


	14. Recovering!AJ/Brian

Fifty-three days. It's been fifty-three days. And AJ still feels like he has something to prove every time he walks into one of these parties.   
  
Kevin briefed him on this, though, they all did, so he listens and tries to focus on the ridiculous bunny costumes the waitresses are wearing when they offer him his one way ticket to self-destructing hell. “Want some wine, honey?”  
  
God, AJ is tempted. The girl smiles at him, and AJ knows he must have been Adam in some previous, fucked up life. He feels raw, like he’s scratching at a wound where the skin’s only just healed; he needs to get away.  
  
But Howie is there, suddenly, and shoos her away with a polite smile and a clever side-step that blocks temptation from AJ’s view. Kevin joins him, his mouth drawn, body pulled taut, and AJ doesn’t need to look at any faces to know that Kevin is intimidating everyone within a twenty-meter radius.  
  
Then Nick intercedes, puppy-dog charm and all, winking at her as he smoothly leads her elsewhere with a, “I don’t suppose you watch Oprah, do you, baby?” No one but the Boys hear the scathing sarcasm that lies beneath.  
  
“It’s okay,” Brian says, as he slips in and takes AJ’s elbow inconspicuously. “You’re okay, Aje. Breathe.”  
  
AJ relaxes, marginally, and Brian laughs when he hears a muffled exhale.  
  
“Why am I here?” AJ mutters, as they force cordial smiles at the foreign faces around them. This used to be his scene; Playboy mansion, booze and schmooze—heck, half the people here are dressed as fucking *bunnies*. Now he’s so paranoid about the alcohol that Brian can feel the tension quivering in AJ’s stiff shoulders.  
  
“Because you can, and you have four bodyguards at your service, man,” Brian tells him, and AJ hears the unspoken ‘we love you’ that Brian doesn’t voice.  
  
AJ swallows, tightly, as Brian smoothly waves off another waitress with four full glasses of sherry on her tray. He can’t even face champagne anymore, and his hands itch where they’re clenched in his pockets.  
  
“How long before we can leave?” he growls, his voice a bare rasp from the need to escape.  
  
“Not yet,” Brian replies, but his tone holds a promise when he says, “but I’ll make it up to you.”  
  
Nick glances over at them just then, grinning from where he’s flirting with the waitress, and silently flashes them a thumbs-up sign. Brian grins back. “Even better than Nicky’s going to make it for that girl.”  
  
Distracted momentarily, AJ looks over. His mouth curves involuntarily—they all know how good Nick gives. “That’s what you said last week, too.”  
  
Brian raises an eyebrow and looks up at AJ’s tone. “Are you mocking me, Bone?”  
  
“No?”  
  
“Oh, the sincerity,” Brian shakes his head. “That’s not what you were saying last night.”  
  
AJ grins, and loosens up slightly. “No, but if I recall right, that’s because we weren’t doing much talking last night.”  
  
“That’s right!” Brian mock exclaims, and somehow he’s managed to guide AJ across the room to the refreshments, without getting stopped by some fool who wants to know how the other N’sync band members are doing. “You were just worshipping me.”  
  
“Worshipping?” AJ asks, wryly.  
  
Brian’s grin is a mile wide, and he takes on a hushed falsetto. “Oh, god! God, Brian, god!”  
  
AJ’s gaping; he can’t help it. Brian hides a chuckle as he thrusts a cup of punch into AJ’s hands. “Tonight you better blow my fucking mind, Littrell,” AJ warns, downing half the cup in one swallow, “because there’s no other way I’ll forgive that.”  
  
Gratified, Brian turns to give AJ a wink before pulling him off to somewhere the liquor won’t follow. It doesn’t occur to AJ, till then, that he hasn’t thought about drinking in the last ten minutes. He smiles, and slides his hand into Brian’s for two seconds before letting go.  
  
He’s going to be okay.


	15. Too-sweet, cuddly Brian/Howie

“I am so bored,” Nick whines, as he changes the TV channel for the fifty-seventh time. “This place sucks. Even the *porn* is boring.”  
  
AJ raises an eyebrow from where he’s sitting on the bed. “Why are you watching porn on TV when you have the fucking Kirsten and Sandy Cohen on your couch?”  
  
Kevin snorts, but doesn’t look up from the newspaper, and Nick is, as usual, astounded by Kevin’s ability to continuously read anything that depressing. “If you’re expecting a response, AJ, you’re looking at the wrong couple.”  
  
“I know. It’s disgusting. They’re the fucking epitome of *nice*.”  
  
Howie glances up, finally, from where he’s curled up around Brian on the couch. He grins. “It’s okay, Aje. One day we’ll rub off on you.”  
  
General laughter greets that statement. Even Brian snorts.  
  
“Oh, I like that. That was encouraging,” Howie mocks, even as he slides back into Brian’s arms and presses their foreheads together. Brian clasps his hands together around Howie’s neck.  
  
“You’re talking to *AJ*,” Brian says, smothering another grin. “That was all the encouragement I could muster. At least I didn’t choke on my laughter.” He jerks his thumb at Nick, who’s red in the face from giggling, still doubled over.  
  
AJ glares at them, and then thwaps Nick on the head. “You didn’t have to laugh that hard, bitch.”  
  
That sets Nick off all over again.  
  
Even Kevin looks up this time, mouth almost curved. Howie breaks into a small smile, the kind that everyone mistakes for shy, when what it really means is ‘this-really-shouldn’t-be-that-amusing’.

“I love when you smile like that,” Brian tells him, as he leans over to kiss Howie. “Really, really love.”

The gagging noise that AJ makes is brushed off as background noise as Howie’s smile grows. “It must love you too. It appears every time you’re around.”

Nick and AJ trade a half-amused, half-annoyed look. “I hate when they get like this,” AJ says, rolling his eyes as Brian and Howie share another giggly kiss.

“Look at it as, um, free porn?” Nick offers, shading his eyes as Brian makes a kissy face and starts singing ‘I Promise You’ and Howie returns the favor with ‘What Makes You Different’.

“It’s schmoop at best!” AJ protests, shuddering as he looks away when Brian nuzzles his face against Howie’s shoulder. “Fucking _bad_ schmoop.”

Brian turns to look at AJ, to whom he’s been sort-of paying attention to. “Aww, but we’re _so_ sweet! Aren’t we, babykins?”

Howie gives him the cheesiest grin he can manage in reply. “I think we are. You’re my sugar pie honey bunch, and that’s a lot of sweet right there.”

“Mmm, wanna lick you,” Brian tells him, linking his fingers with Howie’s.

“I like the way you th—guys?” Howie sits up, looking around. The newspaper is abandoned on the table, and AJ’s bottle of black nail polish is unattended on the bed. Nick’s previously occupied spot on the floor is also, unsurprisingly, vacant. “Guuuys?” Howie singsongs, as he walks to the door and shuts it.

He turns back to Brian triumphantly. “You’re not as nice as you pretend to be,” Howie says, grinning as he rejoins him on the couch.

“How else would we get rid of them? And AJ’s teasing? And Nick’s whining? And Kevin being all boring?”

“I love you,” Howie says, resting his head happily on Brian’s shoulder.

“I love me too,” Brian replies, switching the channel as he slides his arm around Howie. “And you, on occasion.”

Howie just smiles and watches the baboons making out on Discovery.


	16. College AU, with Lance doing bartop dancing

Lance was drunk. Actually, Lance was beyond drunk, which was the only reason he was standing on his chair, attempting to climb onto the bartop. JC and Chris were cheering, egging him on, and Lance shook his ass at them as he stood, almost knocking himself off balance in the process.  
  
“Oh my god,” Justin moaned, slumping forward in his seat, putting his head in his hands. “Please tell me this isn’t happening. It isn’t Thursday night. The entire school population isn’t here. No one’s going to know that I hang out with these morons.”   
  
Joey knocked back another shot of vodka, grinning at his normally sensible classmate, who was currently the object of both JC and Chris’ attention as he began stripping himself of his shirt, revealing a very tempting portion of skin.  
  
“Give me one of those,” AJ McLean demanded, his eyes never leaving Lance’s naked body. “Fuck, the boy is hot.”  
  
Joey smirked, pouring AJ a shot and sliding the glass over. He worked the bars on Thursday and Friday, and the drinks were always stronger those nights, which was, among other things, a popularity boost. Although it would seem Lance was going to do far better in that aspect than Joey.  
  
Lance peeled his shirt off, finally, and threw at JC, giggling when it hit JC in the face. Chris whistled, loudly, and was quickly followed by a multitude of other students. Lance grinned, sliding his hands over his body and then up into his hair, and JC scrambled to pull Lance’s shirt off his head before he missed out on anything.  
  
“C’mere, baby,” Chris yelled, over the music, pulling out a couple of ten dollar bills and waving them around. “Make it good for me.”  
  
JC elbowed him out of the way, clutching crisp notes himself.  
  
Lance looked over, and shimmied his way toward them, eyes glinting.  
  
“Oh, _fuck_ no. They cannot be doing this. I have two years left in this place.” Justin prayed, as he realized what was happening. He stood, quickly, only swaying slightly on his feet as he tried to push his way through the crowd. “LANCE, you fuckhead, come down! You’re in _public_!”  
  
Lance didn’t hear him. Justin suspected he wouldn’t have listened, either way, and he tried to get closer, stumbling over his own feet in the process. A pair of arms latched onto him before he could hit the ground, and when Justin looked up Nick Carter was grinning down at him, pulling him upright.  
  
“You okay?” Nick asked, half-laughingly, as he led Justin to a less crowded corner.  
  
Justin looked back at where Lance was wriggling his butt in JC’s face, much to Chris’ amusement, and groaned. “Nowhere close.”  
  
Joey grinned as he watched their exchange, but his focus was pulled back to Lance in the next moment. JC was grinning as Lance slowly lowered himself into a crouch, and he reached to stuff the money in the waistband of Lance’s jeans.   
  
“Why, thank you,” Lance purred, low and rough, standing again. The heat pooled in JC’s stomach as Lance leaned over and kissed him squarely on the mouth, giggling as he pulled back, and suddenly JC felt shockingly sober.  
  
AJ blinked from where he was sitting, motioning for another glass of alcohol. “ _Damn_.”  
  
Chris nudged JC aside, leering at Lance. “There’s more where that came from.”  
  
“Shut up, Chris.” JC reached a hand out, suddenly realizing that there were a lot more people there than he remembered. “Come on, Lance, let’s get you home.”  
  
“Will there be beer?” Lance asked, but he took JC’s hand before there was any reply, because JC looked _worried_ , and Lance was having none of that. He was still feeling giddy with inebriation, though, and his foot slipped as he tried to come down. “Whoops,” he giggled, as he fell forward and knocked JC over.  
  
Chris cackled at the winded expression on JC’s face, and went to get another drink without helping them up.  
  
“Ow,” Lance sighed, sprawled out on top of JC. “Hi JC.”  
  
“Hi,” JC managed, as he tried to assess the damage he’d done to himself. “Do you mind getti—mmf.”  
  
The rest of that sentence was muffled by Lance’s mouth, and Justin let out another loud expletive when he saw them. “Why can’t my friends be normal?” he grumbled, sinking back against the wall.   
  
Nick just grinned at him, and offered to get Justin another drink.


	17. Sneaky!JC/Lance recording music

Joey is about ready to throw in the towel when Lance botches his part up for the thirty-fifth gazillionth time. From the looks on Chris and Justin’s faces, they’re in complete agreement.   
  
“Huh,” is all JC says, when Lance is done, and the blonde looks like he’s about to cry. That, or strangle JC, Joey can’t tell yet. JC presses a couple of buttons, and when he speaks again they all recognize the soothing tone JC’s using to mean okay-we’re-not-quite-there-yet. “Can we try that again?”  
  
“Come on, man, I’m supposed to meet Nick in like, half an hour. We’re in the same city for the first time in months and I’ve been waiting for-fucking-ever for this. Can we just call it a wrap and finish up tomorrow?”  
  
JC looks up from where he’s been fiddling with the buttons on the control board just in time to catch Justin’s kicked-puppy pout, and he relents, biting back the urge to ask Lance to sing his part again. “We’re almost done, J,” he says, instead, motioning for Lance to join them outside the recording booth. “Look, why don’t you go back in there and get your part done? I’ll stay back with Lance to record his part later. Chris, you and Joe can leave. Y’all were done ages ago, man.”  
  
An explosion of noise takes place after JC’s done. Justin protests violently against the idea of doing his part today (“C, you know we’re both gonna keep ourselves back for at least another hour if we do this shit now!”) and Chris and Joey screech in disbelief (“you couldn’t have told us this maybe two fucking hours ago, C?”). Lance just folds his arms across his chest and watches them.  
  
“Sorry.” JC looks apologetic, at least, so Chris and Joey leave without too much fuss, although Chris makes sure to give JC an extra-hard noogie as he’s walking toward the exit.  
  
“Jayyyyyyyyce,” Justin whines, watching them run off. “I’ll clock extra hours tomor--um, Friday. I promise. You know I will, man. Come on, please?”  
  
JC just raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with tomorrow? Or Wednesday? Or Thursday?” he asks. “What am I supposed to do if you’re all begging off early the rest of the week?”  
  
“Nick doesn’t fly out till Friday morning.” Lance guesses, eyeing the half-guilty expression on Justin’s face. “Come on, C, let’s just do this. You know you’re going to let the boy go.”  
  
Justin glares at Lance for the ‘boy’ comment, but Lance just shrugs and half-smiles, and Justin knows JC’s going to cave—he _always_ caves when it comes to Lance. “Okay,” JC sighs, at last, giving in. “But you know the fans are waiting, J. They’ve waited four years. They’re not gonna wait forever.”  
  
“I know,” Justin says seriously, even though he’s already taking off toward the way out. “We’ll get this done, I swear.” He pauses, just before he opens the door. “I’m glad we’re back together, man.”  
  
JC is smiling, too, when Lance turns to look at him. “So you wanna get this done with or what?”  
  
“Dude,” JC says, his smile broadening. “You were done an hour and a half ago.”  
  
What JC’s saying dawns on Lance, slowly, and his mouth quirks. “You had me sing myself hoarse instead of just telling them to all get the hell out and leave us alone?”

“Hey, it’s been too long since I’ve been able to do that.” JC wraps his arms around Lance’s neck, pressing their foreheads together. “And this way, I get to be the one accusing J of being irresponsible.”

Lance shakes his head incredulously. “You’ve been spending too much time around me, C.”

“Yeah, I know. And damn, it’s addicting,” JC murmurs, tilting his head so he’s kissing Lance, and anything Lance might have had to say in reply is lost in the heady sensation of JC’s mouth on his own.

Lance groans when JC pulls away, deep and slow and _ohh_. “Fucking love your voice, cat,” JC mumbles, leaning in for another kiss, sliding his hands up beneath Lance’s shirt.

“That’s why you kept me in there so long,” Lance says, amused now, as JC slides his tongue up Lance’s neck.

“Yeah,” JC admits with a sly grin, letting Lance nip at his collarbone, “part of it. The other part was the fact that I thought it would be kinda hot to fuck you in the recording booth without the other guys knowing.”

Lance just laughs, eyes glinting, and takes JC’s hand.


	18. JC wooing Lance

Lance was exhausted when he stumbled into his hotel room. There’d been one too many interviews, five too many photoshoots, and about one million, three hundred thousand, twenty seven too many screaming fans to deal with in one day. So when he almost tripped over a small black box lying just inside the doorway, Lance was less than amused.

“What the fucking hell—” he cursed, stopping short of kicking the offending object across the room. He bent down to pick it up, shutting the door with his foot, turning the small case over in his hands. There was a note on the back. _Play me._

Frowning, Lance walked into the bathroom on auto-pilot, still inspecting the box. Then he looked up. Froze. Blinked twice. “Holy shit.”

The bathtub was filled with water, foam and possibly the scent of strawberry. There was a bottle of champagne on a stand beside the sink, and a stereo player next to that. Lance let the sight sink in, and then did the only logical thing he could think of – he opened the package, and slid the blank cd into the player.

Then he locked the door, stripped, and stepped into the tub, letting the soothing sounds of Garth Brooks wash over him. After all, it would be completely unfair to make his (rich, thoughtful) stalker go through the trouble for nothing.

 

There was a bouquet of flowers waiting outside Lance’s door the next morning when he woke up, rested and considerably more cheerful than the day before. He picked it up, gingerly, and sniffed it, like he might break out in hives at any moment. Lance glanced around the empty hallway, before sifting through the flowers for the card. “I hope you had a good night,” he read aloud, before biting his lip and going back inside the room to find the flowers some water.

 

“What took you so long? I’m starving,” Chris grumbled, as soon as Lance stepped into the room. “Who made up this no eating unless we’re all here thing anyway? It doesn’t make sense.”

Pointed silence greeted Chris’ statement, and the rest of the guys turned to look at each other with identical expressions. “Fine,” Chris said, rolling his eyes, “that would be me. I got it. Can we _eat_ now?”

It took Chris two seconds to realize that everyone else was already busy tucking in. “Hey!” he protested, but then gave up and started on his meal. “And you haven’t explained why you’re late, Bass!”

“I—” Lance started, thinking fast, but he was saved by a waiter coming up to them, and coughing politely, before holding out a wrapped package.

“Uh, this is for you, sir.” He mumbled. Lance thanked him and took it without a word; he had the sneaking suspicion he knew what it was. Before he could open it, though, Chris had leaned over and done it for him, and was choking on his cornflakes from laughing so hard. “Chocolates? In a *heart*shaped box? Damn, Lance.”

“What?” Lance said hotly, embarrassed, snatching it back from Chris. “I can’t have a secret admirer because you don’t have one?”

Chris was laughing too hard to reply.

 

Lance was lying face-down on the bed that night, enjoying his (very good) chocolate, when there was a knock on the door. He considered ignoring it, and hoping it would go away, but Diane had raised him better than that, and his hand was on the doorknob before he fully realized he’d even sat up.

“What do you…” Lance trailed off when he realized no one was there. He stuck his head out and looked around the empty hallway, frowning. Then he shrugged inwardly, and was about to close the door, when he saw the huge jar at his feet. Lance picked it up quickly, and went back inside, turning the jar over in his hands.

It was crammed full of stars, and the note pasted to the bottom of the jar read, “for every moment I’ve seen you shine.”

Lance’s mouth curved, softly, and he ran a finger down the side of the bottle, before putting it down on his bedside table and lying back down. He curled on his side, pillowing his head on his arm, shifting so he could look at the latest addition to his growing pile of gifts.

 

Lance was pretty sure, as he walked into the lobby the next morning, that he’d figured out who it was sending him the bath, the flowers, the chocolates, the stars. He’d almost thought Justin, at first, because it was so overwhelmingly romantic, but the thought had scared him too much. Which left only one other option, and it sure as hell wasn’t Chris. Lance smiled to himself, so deep in thought that when a bellboy gently touched his arm, he jumped. “Mr. Bass? I was instructed to escort you to the ballroom.”

“Ballroom?” Lance said, blinking in confusion.

“Yes, sir. It’s right this way.”

Normally, Lance would have politely excused himself, and then tried to find Lonnie or Dre, but all he did was nod, dumbly, and follow the boy into the room, unsure of what he was expecting. The room was empty, though, and Lance glanced around uncertainly, before he was pointed in the direction of a cluster of colorful balloons, each with a letter painted on top, strategically tied down so they spelled ‘are you free Thursday night’.

The bellboy was grinning at the look on Lance’s face, and Lance could feel himself smiling, too. He tipped the bellboy generously, before carefully snagging the balloons he wanted, and walking back out into the lobby.

He could see the odd expressions on the faces of the people around him, and the even stranger one on JC’s as he sauntered over to meet him and thrust the balloons into his hand without a word. He almost laughed at JC’s confusion, and then he did laugh when JC realized that he was holding Lance’s answer in his hands.

‘Yes.’


	19. Smexy AJ/Brian/Nick

AJ doesn’t mean to, but it’s eerily silent, and he knows Nick and Brian are on the couch at the back of the bus, probably napping after their struggle over Super Mario on the x-box, so he goes over in the hopes of waking at least one of them up.  
  
“Whoa.” He manages, at the sight that greets him instead, Nick’s mouth open and wet and sliding over Brian’s, hand curled around the slope of Brian’s neck, the other fisted in Brian’s shirt, most certainly _not_ sleeping.  
  
They look up at the sound of AJ’s voice, but only briefly. “If you two wanted to make out, you should’ve _told_ me. The live demonstration is taking it over the top.”  
  
“Fuck off, Aje,” Nick murmurs, as Brian kisses him again, carding one hand through Nick’s hair. At least, that’s what AJ assumes he’s saying, because it’s hard to tell when Nick’s pretty much talking into Brian’s mouth.  
  
When Brian looks up, his smile is wide, and Nick’s panting and making soft, sweet noises against Brian’s skin. “Unless you want to join us, because we don’t have any objections to that, do we, Nicky?”  
  
“No, not at all. No complaints. None.” Nick responds, breathlessly, and AJ isn’t sure if it’s simply because Nick knows it’s the right answer if he wants Brian to kiss him again. He watches as Nick reaches for Brian and tugs him down again.  
  
AJ contemplates not joining them, but he’s never been any good at self-restraint, so he’s tasting Brian on Nick’s lips a second later. Nick groans, and arches up so readily that Brian’s almost thrown off the couch.  
  
“Whoa there, tiger,” Brian says, laughingly gripping Nick’s shoulders. “Slow it down.”  
  
Nick cards his fingers through AJ’s hair, and AJ’s lips are god, _god_ ; warm, wet heat, AJ’s hands tracing the curve of Nick’s hips. “Waited twenty-two years for this. Any slower and we’ll be stuck kissing all day.”  
  
“And that’s a problem how?” AJ purrs, and then his tongue is in Nick’s mouth before Nick can make a reply.  
  
Brian grins, sliding his palm leisurely up beneath AJ’s shirt, thumb skipping over the grooves of his spine. “Patience, Nick,” he murmurs, leaning over to lick Nick’s collarbone. “AJ prefers to fuck at night, anyway.”  
  
Nick makes a soft, choked sound, and AJ’s grinning when he looks up, twisting to meet Brian’s hand. “You should know; you do have firsthand experience.”  
  
“What?” Nick sounds dazed, almost breathless; AJ’s hips are grinding down, hard, and Brian can’t stop another predatory smile. “You and Brian?”  
  
“You must be losing your touch, Aje,” Brian says, before drawing a neat line down Nick’s chest with his tongue. “He’s still thinking straight.”  
  
“Gonna help me with that?” AJ smirks, eyebrow raised in a dangerous challenge. He knows that if—no, _when_ —Brian takes it up, Nick’s never going to know what hit him.  
  
Brian just raises his eyebrow back, mouth quirked. Then his hand disappears, and Nick whimpers loudly, AJ left wishing tonight would just hurry the fuck up and get here already.


	20. JC, Lance, and dancing in the rain

“Jayce,” Lance says, trying not to laugh. “Jayce, are you sure?”  
  
“Yeah.” JC nods, a grin palpable in his voice. He pulls back the curtains covering the window, and his smile broadens when he sees Lance has done the same in the other bus. He holds his phone closer to his ear. “It’ll be fun. Chris is going nuts in here.”  
  
Lance feels an answering smile tug at his lips. “It’s raining, Jayce,” Lance protests, shaking his head. They both know he’s going to give in.  
  
“No, it’s _drizzling_. It’s not the same. It isn’t like we don’t do it often enough.” There’s a slip of petulance in JC’s voice, and he pouts, putting his free hand on the windowpane, sliding it down slowly.  
  
Glancing away from JC to his open laptop, and then back again, Lance makes up his mind. “Andy!” he calls, to the bus driver, “where’s the next Walmart?”  
  
“There’s one a couple of miles ahead,” Andy yells back. Lance never takes his eyes off JC, who grins winningly at Andy’s response.  
  
  
Chris kisses JC when the buses roll to a stop, grabbing his face in both hands and proclaiming his everlasting love. “I fucking love you, man!” He’s gone so fast JC isn’t sure he actually said it.  
  
He gets off the bus before Justin does, and Lance meets him with a small shake of the head and a resigned smile. “So.”  
  
“So,” JC replies, happily. His eyes sparkle, like the raindrops clinging to his eyelashes, and he tugs Lance towards a secluded corner, and wraps both arms around his neck. His smile softens, and suddenly the rain doesn’t seem so bad after all.  
  
“Somewhere in my heart,” JC hums-sings, pressing their bodies close together as they sway in time to the music only they hear, “I’m always dancing with you in the summer rain…”  
  
“You’re nuts,” Lance replies, but JC hears the smile in his voice as clearly as Lance does. There’s a pause, and then Lance pulls back. “But I love you anyway.” He grins, and JC responds in kind.  
  
Grabbing JC’s hand, Lance twirls him, interlinking their fingers as droplets of rain continue to tingle where they fall against his skin. “So if we’re going to dance in the rain,” he murmurs, pulling JC back towards him, corners of his mouth quirked, “we might as well do it fancy.”  
  
Lance may have been the butt of Chris’ jokes in the beginning, what with his awkward form and two left feet, but he’s nothing if not precision, and he’d taken up ballroom dancing for a few months as a kid. His feet map out a neat basic two-step as he finds his rhythm, and JC follows easily, a wide goofy smile on his face.  
  
They don’t have much time left, Lance knows, because Chris gets bored of Walmart as quickly as he does the bus, and any minute now he’s going to start yelling for everyone to get their asses back on the bus so they can leave already.  
  
He spins JC out, quickly, and then, just as JC’s slides back into his arms, dips him. He almost drops JC, though, because their footing is all wrong, their skin is slick and wet from the rain, and JC’s arching far, far too easily into the dip, which leads to JC dissolving into giggles before Lance can properly get him back upright.  
  
JC leans over and kisses Lance, mirth still lingering in the corners of his upturned mouth and his half-closed eyes. “I love you back,” he says, against Lance’s lips.  
  
Their hands are linked as they stroll back towards Walmart, both wet and grinning. They shove Joey towards the three-man bus wordlessly, before proceeding to the bathroom, where they can strip each other of their wet clothes and take a long, hot bath. Together.


	21. After-schmoop Basez

“How long do you think we have?”  
  
JC blinks sleepily when Lance’s hand pauses abruptly in the middle of pet-stroking his hair, feeling his head start to clear. “What? Um.” He glances over at the clock, digital numbers glaring back at him. “Four hours? Is the wake up call at six?”  
  
Lance looks at JC, half amused and half exasperated. “I mean the band, dork,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to JC’s nose. It shouldn’t be like this, he thinks. They’ve just had sex together for the first time, after all, and there should be at least be some drama or awkwardness or uncertainty after the revelation of the past few hours. “Do you think we’ll ever regroup?”  
  
“Maybe,” JC replies, eyes falling shut again even as he frowns, and Lance resumes his earlier petting to soothe the worry in JC’s expression. They’re not stupid, any of them, no matter what they might sometimes say about Justin. They know things are changing—changed?—and their lives are finally moving in different directions after all these years.  
  
Justin wants to go out with a bang; it’ll help with his solo album, if nothing else. Chris agrees, mostly because he’s getting old and tired and they all know it, though they’re none of them brave enough to bring it up. Joey wants time with Bri, more than monthly off days and five-minute phone calls in between rehearsals can afford. Lance has space, and JC can be reasonable underneath his stubborn exterior.  
  
“Don’t you ever lie, Jayce?” Lance sighs, even as JC snuggles closer, pressing his mouth to the underside of Lance’s jaw.  
  
“Nope. S’why we have you.”  
  
Tilting his head, Lance nips JC’s bottom lip in retaliation. “You’re lucky I love you.”  
  
“More than Justin?” JC asks, but Lance can feel him grinning. One of the worst kept secrets in the N’sync camp is Lance’s old crush on Justin, a by product of homesickness, a small age gap, and being cooped up together in the same hotel room nearly every day. But that has never amounted to anything; judging from tonight, it never will.  
  
“I’ll have to think about that,” Lance teases, smirking himself at JC’s muffled noise of indignation. “At least he’d lie if it made me happy.”  
  
JC considered this for a moment. “I can do other things to make you happy.”  
  
Lance’s fingers skim JC’s collarbone, gentle, his mouth following the same path. “True,” he agrees, feeling JC shiver against him. He pulls JC closer.  
  
“Relax, cat,” JC murmurs, warm breath brushing Lance’s ear. “Leave the worrying to Chris. S'not your job.”  
  
“I just--”  
  
“I know. I’m scared, too.” JC interrupts, and Lance is amazed by the way JC’s never embarrassed about the way he feels. “But it’s not like we can put this off anymore.”  
  
They both know JC’s right. It doesn’t make Lance feel any better, but there aren’t any right answers. For now, this will have to be enough.  
  
There’s a long pause. Then Lance asks, “why did we wait this long?” And they both know he’s not talking about the group anymore.  
  
“Cause we always thought ‘tomorrow, tomorrow’ and now we’re afraid we’ll run out.”  
  
It’s true, Lance reflects. If they hadn’t recognized just how critical things were, how close they were to announcing their hiatus, they’d still be dancing around each other without knowing them were doing it.   
Moments like these that make Lance realize how often people underestimate JC because of his flamboyance. “We’re still gonna have tomorrow,” he promises, “now we’ll just use them better.”  
  
JC grins, one of those teeth-flashing, crinkly-eyed grins that make Lance’s heart do flip-flops and somersaults.  
  
“Y’know,” Lance says, curling against JC. “We have tonight, too. Maybe we shouldn’t wait.”  
  
He leans over, and JC’s whispered reply is lost in the heady sensation of their kiss.


	22. Late night squishy Letterboys phonecalls

When JC finally picked up the phone, he was greeted by a warm chuckle and the words, "I thought you said you'd wait up."  
  
"You told me not to," JC replied, yawning as he sat up a little in the dark, trying to rouse himself. "What time is it?"  
  
There was a pause, like AJ was checking his watch. "About three your time. And when I told you not to it was one of those things you have to say even though you don't mean."  
  
JC laughed, stifling another yawn. "Baby, we've been together fourteen months. We're past the sitting-by-the-phone-the-entire-night-wa

iting-for-your-call stage."

"Happy anniversary to you, too." AJ said, the indignation in his voice palpable even over the phone.

"You're sulking," JC said, a grin on his face. "Don't. I watched TRL today. The video looks good."

"Did you tape it?" AJ asked; he was excited about the new album, there was no way around it.

"Of course. How else am I going to see you for the next coupla months?"

"Jayce..." For a moment, JC heard the new note of seriousness in AJ's voice.

"I'm proud of you," JC interrupted, before AJ could apologize--not that JC seriously thought for a second that AJ would do anything of the sort. "It's okay. I'll deal with the distance by calling you every two hours."

AJ made a small noise of protest, and JC grinned. They both knew he was capable of it; AJ had his previous month's phone bill as proof. "And you're going to add that if I don't pick up you won't be held responsible for any fucking that takes place with Chris."

"Hey!" JC said, defensively. "Hormones are dangerous things, man."

"You know," AJ began, as if JC hadn't spoken, but there was a smile hidden in his voice, "when I dialed your number I was hoping for more than a lukewarm response."

"I love you, dork," JC told him. "Is that better?"

AJ grunted.

" _And_ I'm flying out to see you. How's that for a belated anniversary present?"

There was nothing but silence in answer. JC frowned. "AJ?"

"Seriously?"

JC grinned at the disbelief in AJ's voice. "Unless you object."

AJ started laughing. "You're unbelievable. When's your flight? I'll come pick you up from the airport."

"You better. I'm driving myself crazy here missing you."

"Because I have it so much better," AJ deadpanned.

"You have your boys with you," JC pointed out, his smile fading slightly. "I miss mine."

AJ paused for a minute. "Word has it that because Backstreet's got a new album coming, N'sync's reunion isn't too far behind."

"That's just what the scary girls on the internet want to believe."

"As if you're not one of them," AJ said, and JC could picture him raising an eyebrow, hip cocked, wearing an expression that read 'don't-even-think-about-lying-to-me'. His mouth curved.

"Yeah, well. You love me anyway."

"Yeah," AJ agreed. "Yeah, I do."


	23. Pornstar!Kevin/Fanboy!Lance

"That will be twenty dollars and seventy cents, sir. Are you sure I can't get you anything el--oh my _god_."  
  
Kevin sighs inwardly. This is exactly what he'd been hoping not to run into on his day off--a fan.  
  
"Um, I, hi. I." The cashier sputters, hands paused in the midst of bagging Kevin's groceries. "I didn't think you actually, um. Hi."  
  
"Hello," Kevin replies, semi-pleasantly, his smile soft and as friendly as he dares. He glances at the nametag. "Lance."  
  
Kevin's not entirely sure, but he thinks the cashier might have just meeped. Actually _meeped_. His cheeks flush and Kevin wonders abstractly what it would feel like, introducing someone to his world. It's nothing he doesn't usually brood over, but his fingers linger on Lance's as he hands the cash over nonetheless.  
  
"Um," Lance says, blinking, glancing down.  
  
"My change?" Kevin prompts, gently, and a wisp of amusement curls around his tone like smoke.  
  
"Oh! Right. Sorry." Lance busies himself with the cash register, and for some absurd reason, Kevin doesn't want to leave. It's been a long time since he's interacted with anyone like this. Ever since 'Slutastic' was released two months ago, Kevin hasn't been able to get anyone to look him in the eye without an offer to fuck him adding itself to the mix.  
  
He might be a porn star, but that, Kevin thinks, has only raised his standards even higher.  
  
"Um," Lance says, a moment later, still fumbling with the register.  
  
Kevin's mouth quirks, slightly, and he reaches over the counter to tug Lance's hands free. "I can afford a twenty dollar tip," he murmurs; suddenly, this all feels like a role he actually wants to play.  
  
"I, uh. Thanks?" Lance replies, his gaze fixated on their still linked hands. When he glances up, Kevin's still looking at him. "Ithinkyou'regorgeous."  
  
Kevin laughs, without malice, his eyes never leaving Lance's face. It's nothing original, but it sure beats 'I jerked off to all your movies,' which is not, unfortunately, an uncommon line. The worst part is that most people think he takes it as a compliment.  
  
"What time do you knock off?" Kevin asks, when Lance finally smiles back. He doesn't even think to ask if Lance has a boyfriend.  
  
Lance blinks. "Are you--you want--you're asking me out?"  
  
Kevin bites back a smile. This is turning out just like any of the ten thousand scripts he's done in the past, and every single time, the outcome is the same. "Are you turning me down?"  
  
"No! I mean, um. Five. I knock off at five."  
  
"Perfect. I'll swing by. We can do dinner." Kevin's smile suggests they do something else entirely. "Unless you already had plans."  
  
"Um. Okay." Lance manages, finally, "no plans. Um. Yes."  
  
Kevin just chuckles, and nods, already starting for the door. "All right, then."  
  
The sound of Lance's voice makes Kevin turn again. "If I bring my copy of Deep Throat, can I get an autograph?"


	24. LaNi, and Nick tastes like sunshine

You wake up to the taste of Nick's mouth, soft against your own. "Morning," he murmurs, as you sit up, stretching.  
  
"It's four in the afternoon," you tell him, glancing down at your watch. You're both wearing identical half smiles, though, and when he leans down again, you reach up to meet him halfway.  
  
Nick's less gentle now, and when you open your mouth to his, he tastes warm, and wet, and salty, a mixture of seawater and something distinctly Nick.  
  
"You went to the beach?" you ask, when you pull away the next time, as Nick presses soft kisses against the side of your neck.  
  
"Mmm," he replies, and you shudder as he nips your collarbone. "I was gonna ask you along, but you were sound asleep."  
  
"Thanks a lot, jackass," you murmur, smacking his ass. The first thing you'd told him when you'd finally decided to move in together was to make sure you never fell asleep in the middle of FreeLance paperwork. The second was that if you do, he's supposed to wake you up. Immediately.  
  
In no world, you reason, does three hours constitute immediately.  
  
Nick grins unrepentantly against your skin.  
  
"You taste like peppermint," he tells you, and even though that's not exactly an apology, you let it slide. It _is_ Nick, after all.  
  
Two seconds later, you're rethinking that easily given forgiveness. "Nick," you say, your voice bordering too-calm, a sign that you know he knows means 'danger' in bright glowing letters. "What is that?"  
  
"Chocolate sauce?" he offers. His fingers are soft against your stomach.  
  
"I can see that," you reply, "but--oh. _Oh_."  
  
Nick grins up at you as he licks your torso a third time. Damn incoherency, you think, but your mouth is too dry to voice it. To cap it off, Nick leans over and crushes his mouth to yours.  
  
You close your eyes. Nick is sweet and warm, and you think that this is what sunshine would taste like, honey-saccharine and the slightest tang of mint. The barest hint of salty-seawater comes almost as an afterthought, as Nick licks the roof of your mouth, sliding his arms around your waist to pull you closer.  
  
Kissing Chris was never like this, you reflect, when Nick draws back to rest his forehead gently against yours.   
  
It was hard, and quick (and sometimes painful, because Chris never seemed to be able to decide what to do with his teeth), and coffee-laced, which was never something you particularly looked forward to, because Chris always drank his two cups of coffee black. Sometimes you'd walk around with that bitter taste in your mouth the entire day.  
  
"Hey, you okay?"  
  
You blink. Nick's almost laughing, his blue, blue eyes looking straight into your own, his palm soft on your cheek.  
  
You smile as you lean forward, and you know he tastes your answer on your lips.


	25. JC has a tail

The only thing that really bothers him about having a tail is the fact that they never fit well in his jeans, JC thinks, as he yanks the offending material off, curling his tail experimentally to work the kinks out.  
  
He lets out a quiet purr as his tail unfurls and its tip brushes his palm.  
  
"C!"  
  
JC turns towards the familiar voice with a smile, his tail starting to wag. "Hi, Lance!"  
  
"JC," Lance stutters, eyes wide, "but you--and the--I mean--but you--"  
  
Lance is cut off by JC's tail brushing his cheek. "Do you like it?" he asks, eyes bright, a broad grin on his face.  
  
"Err," Lance replies, weakly. He almost reminds JC that Halloween is two months away, but then curiosity overrules sense and he reaches out to stroke JC's tail. It's soft as velvet beneath his touch, and leans into his hand as though it has a mind of its own. His crack about Halloween dies on his lips. "How--where did you get it?"  
  
"I didn't," JC says, with a shrug. "It was kinda always there."  
  
"And we never *noticed*?" Lance asks, incredulous, fingering the warm, furry tail almost absentmindedly.  
  
JC purrs again. "I tuck it in my pants leg. I tried showing Chris once, but I think I may have traumatized him."  
  
"No shit!" Lance replies, with a huff of laughter. "C, this is fucking crazy."  
  
JC just smiles one of his crinkly-eyed smiles that makes Lance smile back, and shrugs, "worse things could've happened, cat."  
  
Lance contemplates arguing that--JC has a fucking tail, for Christ's sakes!--but then JC's tail is warm against his cheek, and Lance just shakes his head. "I think we're gonna have to get your clothes altered, C."  
  
JC just beams, and his tail wags a little harder.


	26. Justin/AJ, and Lynn's issues

Justin storms into Lance's room, slamming the door shut behind him, cell phone at his ear, obviously fuming. The other four don't even look up as he slumps into a seat beside Lance.   
  
"AJ," Joey says, to his cereal, with a snort.  
  
"Lynn," Chris corrects as he butters his toast.   
  
"Lynn, about AJ," Joey interjects, grinning triumphantly when Chris doesn't reply.  
  
Lance glances at JC, eyebrow raised. JC responds with a small shrug.  
  
"Mom," Justin sighs into the phone. Then he lapses into silence again.  
  
Lance raises his eyebrow further at JC; Chris just smirks. "She's pissed."  
  
"Ma." Justin tries again, more firmly. It doesn't work.  
  
Joey grins, turning to Chris, ready to bet that Justin's going to be yelling the bus down for the next two hours once he hangs up. Before he opens his mouth, though, Justin cuts him off with a shrill, "goddammit, ma! Will you _listen_ to me?"  
  
JC drops his spoon back into his bowl of cereal. Lance chokes on his coffee. Joey's roll hangs midway to his mouth, frozen. Chris is the only one capable of making his voice chords obey enough to allow him to splutter in protest.  
  
"Ma? _Ma_!" Justin flings his cell across the room, letting out a groan of frustration as it hits the opposite wall. He tilts his head back against his chair. "Why does she not fucking approve?"  
  
Chris blinks, twice, then seems recovered enough to say, "J."  
  
"What?" Justin glares, "it's okay if I have tattoos, but if it's my boyfriend who's got ink done he's definitely a cokehead?"  
  
Lance sets his cup down carefully, and approaches his next statement with the same amount of cautiousness. "You know why it's so easy for her to believe that. AJ's been to reh--"  
  
"Still, I don't think it's fair," JC cuts in. One of his hands creep over to cover Justin's where they're clutching the arm of the chair so tightly his knuckles are white. "I know AJ. He's better now."  
  
Justin relaxes visibly, and the anger seems to dissipate as quickly as it flared.  
  
Lance opens his mouth again, but JC gives him a look and he subsides.  
  
"She thinks it'll be bad for the band," Justin says, finally. Quietly. "She's worried about my career."  
  
"Aren't you?" Joey asks, gently, as he comes round to stand behind Justin's chair and wrap his arms around Justin's neck.  
  
"I've been doing this for two months. Johnny's none the wiser." Justin shrugs. Suddenly, he looks exhausted. Joey kisses him on the side of his neck, cuddling him tighter.  
  
"It's okay, baby," JC soothes, "I know."  
  
Justin smiles wearily, gratefully, up at JC, before turning to Lance slowly. To anyone else, it would've seemed deliberate. But Lance isn't anyone.  
  
"I've got a list of Backstreet's tour dates stored in my Palm," he offers grudgingly, breaking into a small smile when he sees the fear drain out of Justin's frame.  
  
"I'll call Lynn," Chris says suddenly, getting up from his chair. Justin whips his head around. Chris looks back at him blankly till Justin attempts a tentative smile. Then Chris nods, seemingly satisfied.  
  
"Better," he says, then leaves the room to make the call.


	27. Basez and Lance's snowboarding bid

The phone rings three times before Lance picks up, and the first thing he hears is a shrill "Lance!" right in his ear.  
  
"JC!" he says back, almost as shrilly, which is a feat considering their voice ranges.  
  
"Lance!"  
  
"JC!"  
  
" _Lance!_ "  
  
Lance rolls his eyes and gives up. JC's much better at this i-can-say-your-name-in-ten-thousand-diff

erent-ways games than he is. Lance doesn't have enough patience. "Okay, what?"

"Thirty thousand dollars!"

Lance lets his forehead meet his desk with a thud. He'd forgotten about that, and how quickly news travels when it comes to fluff like this. There's a pause, wherein Lance listens to the irregular pattern of JC breathing. He's worried for a second because he can't tell what JC's thinking; that's never been a problem for him.

"Yeeeeeeah," Lance drawls, stalling for time. "About that."

"Thirty! Thousand! Dollars!" JC repeats. Lance can hear every single exclamation mark, and the indignance that comes with them.

"I know, C," Lance replies. "I have the gaping hole in my pocket as a souvenir."

Lance knows JC knows that he, out of the five of them, never spends an unneccessary penny when he can help it, so he understands the confusion when JC asks, "so why?"

"Why what?" Lance shoots back. Inwardly he's flinching for being so difficult. He's not sure why, but he doesn't feel like he should have to explain himself to JC. Although technically, spending thirty thousand dollars to spend time with someone who's not-a-boyfriend does merit a proper, through clarification with said boyfriend.

JC, though, is undeterred. He sounds almost perplexed. "Thirty thousand dollars!"

"It was snowboarding!" Lance says, defensively. "I like snowboarding. And I like Justin, too."

There is silence at this statement. Lance squeezes his eyes shut and bangs his forehead against the table a couple times more. He wonders if his brain fell out of his head when he wasn't paying attention. "Jayce," Lance says, finally, after a long stretch of silence, "you know I don't mean it like that."

"You mean," JC begins, woodenly, "the way you didn't mean it when I caught you the last time in the bar going down on--"

"JC!" Lance interrupts, shocked. "That was two years ago!"

Now he knows, though. Recognizes the emotion easily. JC's pissed. Beyond pissed. He's furious. Confused. Hurt.

"Thirty thousand dollars, Lance!" JC splutters, and Lance would laugh if they'd been in any other situation, the way JC able to express so much using the same few words over and over.

"You're going to think I'm incredibly lame," Lance mumbles to himself, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his free hand as he mentally prepares his explanation.

"What?" JC interrupts before Lance can say anything, though. "Don't you dare tell me not to be a pain, Mr.--"

"What?" Lance interrupts, back, letting out a huff of sharp laughter. "Jayce, no, I didn't say--"

"I can't believe you're laughing. _Now_ of all times. Now when we're supposed to be rational adults and communicate instead of--"

"It was Nick Lachey, okay!" Lance erupts, midway through JC's ramble.

"Wha? Who?"

"Nick Lachey," Lance mutters, embarrassed. "Ex-boyband member, husband of Ms. Buffalo Wings, made a guest appearance once or twice on your sixth favorite drama series, a fellow auction bidder, you know the one."

 

"Charmed?" JC asks, sidetracked for a moment. Then he seems to pull himself together. "You spent thirty thousand dollars on J because you didn't want Nick Lachey to go snowboarding with him?"

"Yes!" Lance exclaims, his voice muffled in the crook of his arm, feeling himself flush. "Okay? I hate that short--"

"Ah," JC interjects absently, "mind your language."

"Sorry," Lance mutters; Chris has trained them all very well. "Vertically challenged, opinionated, arrogant, fugly piece of--"

"Huh." JC snorts, bringing Lance to a halt.

Lance gives up. "Okay, and maybe Justin begged me not to let Nick--"

"Huh," JC repeats, even more disbelievingly.

"Okay, fine!" Lance admits, irritably. "Maybe Justin threatened to spread among the A-listers the fact that Lachey didn't--" Lance stops, abruptly.

"Didn't?" JC probes, although Lance can hear the hint of a smile creeping back into JC's voice already.

"Didn'tgetoffwhenwehookedup." Lance lapses into silence then, ignoring the sudden, muffled, choked sounds of what he's sure is JC's laughter coming from the other end. He puts up with it for about two seconds, then grumbles, "shut up. It was only that once."

"Oh, babe," JC giggles. Then he bursts into full out laughter, and the corners of Lance's mouth curve upwards. Just a little. Maybe.

It takes another minute or two, but JC finally calms down and catches his breath. "Oh, babe," he repeats, and Lance can clearly hear the grin in his voice this time. "We all know that it's J who's the real manipulative bitch when he needs to be."

"Thirty thousand dollars!" Lance echoes JC's earlier words, shaking his head. "Maybe I should've let Lachey win."

"Let's split it 50-50." JC says jokingly, but Lance knows a sincere offer when he hears one.

He smiles and nods into the phone. And when JC starts chattering about how his recording for the day went, Lance knows JC heard his unspoken 'I love you'.


	28. JC turning 30 gives Chris a migraine

It all began with that anonymous birthday card. JC's pretty sure it was an early gag gift from one of the guys, but he's not certain, and he's never been able to prove it. He doubts he ever will be, but that's besides the point.  
  
You see, that birthday card is/was the reason JC (and, apparently, Chris, who then told Kevin and Howie) realized that it was approximately one year and three months away from his Big Three-Oh.  
  
"JC!" Chris yells, from his bunk, interrupting JC's internal monologue. "It's Howie for you on the phone!"  
  
JC groans inwardly, but goes to pick it up. "Hi, Howie."  
  
"Oh, honey," Howie soothes -- a tone becoming so familiar that JC wants to scream, "don't sound like that. It's not the end of the world."  
  
Kevin's muttered, "why do you bother lying? He's going to discover the truth in fifteen months," suggests he thinks otherwise, though.  
  
JC bites back a long suffering sigh. This has been going on for two weeks. Howie's sweet, random calls suddenly seem more like signs of paranoia that JC might decide throwing himself off an eighty-storey building is the way to go; Kevin's sudden bouts of almost-friendliness seem lined with hidden meaning like 'welcome to the club, we've just been sentenced to the gallows'; Chris' recent onslaught of pranks are becoming less amusing, and more annoying in a fuck-the-hell-off-Chris-I-don't-need-you

r-help-to-stay-young kind of way.

"Look, Howie, I appreciate you checking up on me and everything," JC starts, and he can practically hear Howie beam across the phone. It's almost, _almost_ enough to keep him from saying, "but you don't have to do it so often."

"Oh." The confusion in Howie's voice makes JC cringe, and he flops into a chair, squeezing his eyes shut tight when there's a loud, unforgiving farting noise.

"Yeah," JC continues, anyway, because he's used to it by now; he should've seen that one coming. "So, um. Thanks. For, you know, being a friend and stuff. But, yeah."

"It's okay, JC," Howie says slowly, and he's still using that gentle tone that JC wants to shred to pieces. "I'll still be here the next time you need someone to talk to. And so will Kevin, whatever he says. Don't worry," Howie lowers his voice conspiratorially, "his bark is worse than his bite."

_He's a bitter old bastard and he knows it,_ JC clarifies, in his head, and sinks backwards thankfully when Howie hangs up. He's been sending JC books that JC isn't even sure are in production anymore and complaining about the shit that's getting published nowadays, in a tone of voice that suggests 'nowadays' have nothing on the 'good _old_ days', which suggests that they're so old now they're in a different era altogether.

JC snorts. They've been making pop music for the past ten years, but when you're thirty you're in an entirely different league from all the 'kids' making almost the very same pop music.

Out of all of them, though, Chris seems to be taking it the hardest. The responsibility of showing the next to-be-30 syncer The Way is taking its toll. JC isn't sure, but he's convinced that Chris has spent at least three nights this week up pacing, trying to think of pranks that will keep JC on his toes, and keep his aging mind active. That is, JC's aging mind, not Chris', because Chris, despite being five years JC's senior, is not aging. Nope, no siree, not him.

JC shakes his head and sighs, enjoying his moment of peace, wondering how he's going to convince Chris to stop trying so hard. But then his cell rings before he can come up with anything, and Howie's name blinks on his screen. JC nearly screams but settles for running his hand through his hair. Then he pauses, tugs, and looks around the bus in disbelief. He should have _known_...

"GODDAMMIT, KIRKPATRICK!" he yells, his cell tumbling to his floor as he scrambles to his feet, almost knocking a stack of new paperbacks from Kevin over in the process, "DID YOU ADD FUCKING GLUE TO MY SHAMPOO?"


	29. AJ/Justin and schmoopy Christmas love

The air was cool and crisp as AJ wove his way through the crowd. He had a pair of sunglasses on and his cap was pulled down low so his face was mostly, if not completely, hidden.  
  
"Fucking Timberlake. Magic Kingdom on Christmas eve?" he snorted derisively, muttering to himself as he continued determinedly towards his intended destination.  
  
A sharp whisper interrupted AJ's monologue. " _Finally_! What took you so long?"  
  
AJ turned around to face Justin, who was clad in a similar outfit: a fitting t-shirt, tight jeans, a cap over his curls, and a pair of shades.  
  
He raised an eyebrow at the indignant expression on Justin's face. "Whose idea was it to meet in Magic fucking Kingdom? When I told you I had a nice crowd-less suite booked up in the Hyatt?"  
  
Justin shrugged, glancing around. "I had to find a way to ditch Sexual Chocolate. 'Sides, it's kinda romantic here."  
  
AJ followed Justin's lead, quickly realizing that just about the entire world and their boy-slash-girlfriends were there, holding hands and giggling and swooning all over each other. He turned back to Justin, unimpressed. "Justin, what have I told you about listening to Chasez when it comes to romance?"  
  
"That he sometimes has some pretty cute ideas?" Justin ventured, slipping one of his arms through AJ's.   
  
"More like stupid," AJ said, rolling his eyes.  
  
"This was really mostly my idea, you know."  
  
"Well, then you have some pretty stupid ideas, Timberlake."  
  
Justin ignored him, more than used to his relentless tendency to criticize. "Come on. We'll have to leave soon, and I want to ride _some_ thing before we do."  
  
"Leave?" AJ asked, frowning as he let Justin lead him towards the nearest roller coaster.  
  
Justin grinned, kissing the tip of AJ's ear quickly. "Nice crowd-less suite ring any bells? Plus, you're obviously pissed off about being here, so I'll have to do something to..." he paused, and gave AJ a devilish grin before continuing, "make it up to you. A Christmas present of sorts."  
  
"If that's my Christmas present, what was that bike you had sent to my house the other day?"  
  
"A bribe to get you to come," Justin grinned, then pecked AJ briefly on the mouth.  
  
AJ couldn't help the smile tugging at the edges of his mouth as they queued up for the ride, his hand fit snugly around Justin's.  
  
  
"If I'd known you didn't have the stomach for it--"  
  
"Shut up."  
  
AJ snicker. "You still look a little green, J."  
  
"Shut _up_."

AJ took another minute to snicker over the fact that Justin's love for roller coasters did not extend to his stomach.

"All right already. Sheesh," Justin grumbled. "Can we leave now?"

"What, already?" AJ teased. "But we were having so much fun on the rides!"

Justin gave AJ a glare that spoke volumes, and AJ just grinned and shook his head. "Come on, then."

 

Justin had a thing for using card keys, one of the many quirks that AJ had found out about and reluctantly fallen in love with. So when Justin held out a hand for the hotel room key expectantly, AJ turned it over without a word.

"So, Christmas Eve in Magic Kingdom is sort of a things JC's always wanted to try," Justin was saying, absently trying to slip the card key into place, "but never--hey. This isn't a card..." Justin trailed off when he realized what he was holding, exactly, then finished lamely, "key."

Justin looked up from the object in his hands to AJ, eyes wide.

AJ was looking right back at him, and as Justin stood motionless, AJ reached over and tucked an errant curl back into place. "No shit, Einstein," he said, but it wasn't as playful as it could have been.

Justin stared, dumbstruck, at the key in his hand. His voice was small when he looked up. "Aje?"

"You didn't really think I wanted to spend Christmas in a hotel suite, did you? Or that I was going to give you one night of fantastic fucking as a present?"

"I. I just. But I. This." Justin shook his head, at a complete loss. He held the key up. "The key to your _house_? Are you sure?"

AJ just smiled, one hand already sliding around Justin's neck and tugging him down. "You're not the only one who gets stupid ideas," AJ murmured, and then very gently kissed him.


	30. Pregnant Juni

"Nicky?"  
  
It takes a second, but at last Nick shifts, opening one eye blearily to glance at Justin, who's standing topless at the door, his unbuttoned jeans clinging to his hips, his hands resting on his rounded belly. "Mmrh?"  
  
"Nicky," Justin repeats.   
  
Nick sits up now, running a hand through his hair. "J?"   
  
"Nicky," Justin says again, in what is very nearly a wail, "I'm stuck!"  
  
"C'mere," Nick says, without skipping a beat, waggling a finger at Justin.   
  
"I'm _huge_ ," Justin grumbles, as he waddles his way over to Nick. "I'm huge, and disgusting, and I wish we never listened to fucking McLean about the experiment. This isn't worth the three thousand dollars."  
  
"You don't mean that," Nick murmurs, reaching for Justin's hand and squeezing it gently as he tugs Justin closer. "You were ecstatic when Dr. McLean proposed the idea."   
  
With a quick jerk, Justin's jeans are pooled at his feet, and Nick grins, patting the space between his spread legs.  
  
"Not worth it," Justin mutters with a huff, but he sits down anyway, leaning back so Nick's hands can cover his own. "Oh!"  
  
"Baby's getting frisky," Nick cooes, pressing a soft kiss to Justin's neck. "She doesn't like hearing her daddy talk about her like that, does she?"  
  
"Well maybe she should stop giving daddy back pains and nausea!" Justin snaps. A second passes before he's shaking his head, sniffing a little. "I'm sorry. I don't mean that. It's just the damn hormone pills."  
  
Nick places another soft kiss on Justin's collarbone, sliding one hand beneath Justin's to rub gentle circles on his belly. "She's gonna be perfect," he promises, linking their fingers.  
  
Justin sighs, tucking his face into the crook of Nick's neck, mumbling, "But I'm going to be a sucky daddy."  
  
"That's not what Layton tells his friends," Nick replies, quietly, before kissing Justin's earlobe. "He _adores_ you. You, and his unborn baby sister."  
  
The comment makes Justin smile, albeit weakly. "Have we really had him for three years already?"  
  
"I'm _pretty_ sure there were four candles in that birthday cake last weekend," Nick says. "Unless there were a couple that got lost in the fudge when I wasn't paying attention."  
  
"Layton asked for extra icing!" Justin says, defensively. "What was I supposed to do, say no?"  
  
Nick smiles, resting his chin on Justin's shoulder. "See, our son knows he's got you wrapped around his finger. He's always asking you to help him with stuff."  
  
"Only when you're not around," Justin replies after a moment, sounding slightly injured.   
  
"Well I did get a lot of practice," Nick acknowledges, with a grin. " _Someone_ had to make up for the fact that Jane was a terrible mom and I--babe, wait, what--"  
  
"You think I'm going to be as terrible as your mom!" Justin accuses, eyes bright with tears, pushing away from Nick and storming towards the door.   
  
"J, come on, you know I--"  
  
The door swings shut before Nick can finish his sentence.  
  
Nick throws up his hands in exasperation, then sighs and calls out, "Does this mean I'm still not allowed back in the bedroom?"  
  
"Shut up!"


	31. Stoned, sexual Timbertrick

  
Stoned Justin, Chris thought, was nothing like sober Justin. Hell, he was nothing like stoned Chris. He was all soft, and happy, and lying boneless on the couch beside Chris. Everything was one big ball of hilarious… things, and all the crappy stuff that happened wasn’t worth thinking about. But everything became sharper in Chris’ head, once he’d had a line or two of Coke. Not the physical stuff, though, but like, the emotional stuff? That tended to rise to the surface somewhat. Probably why Chris hadn’t shared weed with Justin in years.   
  
“Like, y’know. It’s a party, right? So, like, they’re all stoned as hell, man,” Justin laughed, and Chris snapped back to attention. Sort of. It wasn’t Justin’s usual laugh, Chris found himself thinking, giddily. It was louder or something. More like a bray than his normal, practiced, throaty, kind-of-sexy interview chuckles. Also, he tended to babble. As if to prove Chris’ point, Justin waved his hands then and went on talking. “I mean, like, they were so fucking gone, right? Kind of – sorta like we are now. Y’know?”  
  
Chris nodded. And Justin brayed again, and tipped his head against Chris’ shoulder. “So we’re talking about people we’d like to screw, right?” Justin said, and Chris nodded again. He would be pissed off, he thought, if he wasn’t as high as a fucking kite right now. Jesus, being a megastar seriously had its perks. Where did Justin get his weed from?  
  
“So,” Justin was saying, when Chris’ attention drifted back to him after five minutes of analyzing the pretty colors of the walls. “I said, like, Cameron. Duh. And they were all, that doesn’t count. You’ve already had her.”  
  
Chris looked at Justin, then, and his eyes were a little more glazed over, like he was remembering something really, really good. Or really, really hot. Possibly both. “Was she any good?”  
  
“What, in bed?” Justin asked. He made a low, quiet noise at the back of his throat when Chris nodded, and Chris watched as he shut his eyes. Oh. Apparently the look Justin got when he was having intimate sexual fantasies didn’t change after a couple of lines of Coke. Justin made that noise again, and the room spun. Okay. Maybe the heat in his stomach was an aftereffect of the drugs. “Yeah,” Justin breathed, eventually. He sprawled out more comfortably on the couch, one of his (huge) hands draping across Chris’ side. “Oh, yeah.”   
  
Justin’s wrist was warm against his own. Chris wondered what the rest of him felt like. “Well,” he prompted, when Justin didn’t go on, and the silence made his drug-addled brain think of strange, forbidden things that he’d thought he’d been able to quash years ago. “Tell me.”  
  
Justin didn’t seem fazed by the question, not like he usually would be. “I dunno,” he slurred, and then clapped his free hand over his mouth like he’d said something wrong. Chris batted it away. “Okay, like. Britney was good, man. You know? Like,” Justin’s jaw went slack at the memory. “Like, fuck, yeah. Like, we had no idea what we were doing and she was still fucking amazing.”  
  
 _Oh_ , Chris thought, watching the lazy curve of Justin’s smile and the want that darkened his eyes. He shifted a little, almost awkwardly, but that just made his shirt ride up a little, and Justin’s fingerpads were there, soft and smooth and warm, on his stomach. Oh man, the drugs were making Chris really, really happy – although discussing girls didn’t usually do that to him, high or otherwise. He shifted some more.

Thankfully, stoned Justin seemed to miss everything. “ And Jessica, right?” he went on. “Her body’s like,” he shook his head, and made a sloppy, not-quite hourglass-like figure with his hands. “Like, y’know? She’s all muscle. Like, _everywhere_.” Justin turned to Chris earnestly. “I mean, s’like fucking a man, right, except without all the – the – those things. Parts. The equipment.” Justin collapsed back against the couch, letting out a long rush of breath. “And she lets me, like… however hard I want, y’know? Jesus. She’s really, like, she’s a really good lay, man.”  
  
Chris’ throat was dry. Was Justin really comparing fucking Jessica Biel to a guy?  
  
“But Cameron,” Justin sighed, and he turned his face so his cheek was pressed against the couch and he was looking right at Chris. “Man, Cameron fucked like – like a pro, y’know?” His eyes slipped shut, and for a second, so did Chris’. “Like, she always wanted sex. Or maybe it was me, but like, she was fucking, just, like, out of this world, man.” Justin’s cheeks were flushed. “I mean, like, she let me put my fingers in her mouth, y’know? When I was – when we were, like, screwing.”   
  
Justin paused for a second, and Chris must’ve been wearing his heart on his sleeve because Justin started to grin, and he crooked a finger at Chris. “C’mere,” Justin said. Chris raised an eyebrow. What? No. “C’mere,” Justin insisted, rolling his eyes – or attempting to, at least – when Chris refused. “I’m not explaining this right, man. C’mere. I mean, you – I gotta _show_ you this.”  
  
No, no, Chris wanted to protest. No, you really don’t. But drugged up on Coke or not, Justin was about twice Chris’ size, and probably four times stronger. So when he hauled Chris down on top of him, when he lifted a slow, teasing hand up under Chris’ shirt, when he leaned up and traced Chris’ lower lip with his tongue, when he pressed two dry, tempting fingers to where his tongue had just been, Chris really didn’t have much say in any of it.   
  
He didn’t have much say in what followed, either.   
  
But later, when he was sprawled out on top of Justin, fully clothed except for where his jeans had been jerked down around his knees, he wondered if he’d made things too easy. “So the party,” he said, because he was Chris and he didn’t want to think about this. “Cameron didn’t count, right? So who did you say?”  
  
Justin raised an eyebrow as he raked his eyes over Chris. And Chris thought, _oh, well, duh_ , before tilting his head and licking Justin’s fingers one last time. Justin shivered, then brayed a loud laugh, and Chris felt the slow rumble spread throughout his chest.   
  
Jesus, he needed to buy Justin more weed.


	32. Math-Whiz!Nick and Basketball-Star!Justin

Psych is probably one of Nick's favorite classes (and it's not _just_ because Justin's in his class.) Professor Kirkpatrick is kind of a god, too.   
  
He's not thinking about the Professor today, though, too busy experimenting with different messages till, five minutes before the end of lesson, he settles on one that, under the circumstances, will have to do.   
  
He pretends not to watch Justin as the note sails through the air to land neatly on his desk. Underneath the table, though, his fingers are crossed and he wonders if maybe _' ~~I'm~~ ~~You're really~~ Do you want to go out sometime? Check Yes or No'_ is a little juvenile. Even for him.  
  
He keeps his eyes on his desk after that, instead of ahead, which is the main reason he doesn't realize his note has been stopped in the midst of its journey back from Justin's table to his own.   
  
"I hope this is not how you intend to dispose of your psychology notes, Timberlake. No matter how irrelevant they may be to your life of basketball."   
  
Nick jerks his head up when he realizes how close the professor's voice is to his table, and his heart sinks when he sees the flash of paper in the professor's hands.   
  
"Slip of the fingers, Professor," Justin says with a guileless smile, already sliding across the table in an attempt to reach for the note. "Won't happen again."  
  
Professor Kirkpatrick isn't amused. "Good," he says, and turns so sharply Justin nearly falls over, before continuing his stroll down the row. Nick slouches a little lower in his seat as Justin resettles himself with a slight frown.  
  
"Now, on top of that delightful essay I expect by next week," the professor says as he stops by Nick's desk, "you will also be required to read the next chapter of your textbook, and have questions ready at hand." He looks down, then, and taps Nick's desk with a finger. "Corporal punishment is not an answer."  
  
Then he turns around again, barking, "and the word 'required' should tell you that it means 'compulsory', Fuller, no unnecessary insipidity, please."  
  
Nick's too stunned for a moment by the flutter of white on his table to even react. When he finally reaches forward, he's rewarded by the sight of highlighted streaks of pink, yellow, and blue next to the box marked 'yes'.  
  
He's still flushing pleasantly when the bell rings, three minutes later, and Professor Kirkpatrick lets them off with a brusque, "that will be all."  
  
  
  
Nick walks into the tuition center, the note clamped tightly in his fist, even more nervous than usual. Talking to Justin is like exploring a new mathematical concept; he's never quite sure what to expect.  
  
He sighs. Overthinking the situation usually does more harm than good, so Nick settles down at one of the study tables and resolutely decides to start on some work before Justin arrives.  
  
In fact, Nick gets so absorbed in his work that he startles a moment later, when he hears the soft 'click' that accompanies the lock falling into place as the door swings shut. He hadn't even heard it open. When Nick looks up, Justin's already leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets and his megawatt grin firmly in place.  
  
"Hi," Justin says, casually.  
  
"Um, hey?" Nick replies.  
  
Instead of sitting, Justin hooks one ankle over the other and relaxes into his pose against the wall. "You could've just asked, you know," he says, his mouth curving. "And you could've done it sooner."  
  
Nick blushes, hotly, and has the audacity to pretend he doesn't know what Justin's talking about. "Um, you're early today? Did you skip practice?"  
  
"Wrong question," Justin murmurs, and suddenly he's pulling Nick to his feet and pressing him up against the wall, too, their mouths mere inches apart. "Come on, Nicky, I know you know the right one."  
  
Nick tears his eyes away from Justin's lips, a little disorientated. "But I don't --"   
  
Justin laughs a little, quietly. "Strike two. Last shot, Nick."  
  
Nick blinks, and finally, his fingers curl around Justin's shoulder. His voice drops a notch when he says, "You're going to have to give me a little more to work on than that."  
  
"Okay," Justin agrees, mouth quirking as he brushes his knuckles over Nick's cheek. "Let me demonstrate: can I kiss you?"  
  
And then Justin's leaning in, head tilted as he covers the distance between them. The only flaw with the demonstration, Nick thinks, as Justin's mouth slants over his own, is that Justin didn't wait for an answer.  
  
Not that Nick's complaining of course, not when Justin's lips are warm and soft and – oh. Is that tongue?  
  
Another (long, blissful) second, and Nick's brain finally processes that yes, yes, it is.  
  
Finally Justin pulls away, eyes sparkling, mouth bruised and wet. Nick only realizes then that his hands are fisted in Justin's sweatshirt.  
  
"Oh," he says, awkwardly, and tries to step back. But he can't move.   
  
_Ahh_ , his brain chimes in, when it catches up a moment later. _The wall._  
  
"Is that all you can say?" Justin teases, smiling again. "I was hoping for a warmer reaction."  
  
Nick feels the heat creep up his neck again, and he looks down at his sneakers. "Um, what do you want me to say?"  
  
"I was aiming for something along the lines of, 'hey Justin, that was fucking awesome. We should do it again sometime.' Then I could suggest, 'sometime being now?' and you could nod and we could spend the next hour on a practical instead of theory work. Of course, now that I've technically had the conversation for us, we could skip right to it."  
  
Nick carefully weighs the pros and cons of making out with Justin over doing Math.   
  
No competition.   
  
He leans forward, then, butterflies in his stomach already, and Justin meets him halfway.   
  
"This works too," Justin mumbles, and then his hands are warm on Nick's hips, and his mouth is even warmer.


	33. Brian/Howie locked in a closet

It's the last night of AJ's solo tour, and someone (and Howie doesn't want to name names, but Nick is _so_ dead when AJ gets his hands on him) thinks it'll be a good idea to show up onstage, unannounced, to sing Mr A as some kind of huge _thanks for buying this guy's album, stay tuned for the next Backstreet hit!_ show of solidarity.  
  
"We can hide out in the crowd!" Nick says, eyes gleaming. "Come on, man, it'll be fucking awesome. AJ won't know what hit him."  
  
As it turns out, there are way, way more fangirls in the crowd than they expected.  
  
Brian drops his forehead against the door as he lets out a sigh. It's almost loud enough to cover the sounds of raging teenaged hormones drifting in from the other side. "Howard," he says, resignedly, without even turning around, "We really should know better by now."  
  
Howie looks around their tiny, enclosed space. Scratch AJ, he thinks. He's going to kill Nick himself.  
  
  
  
It only takes about twenty minutes for Howie to make the switch from annoyed to concerned. "Do you think they made it out okay?" he says, to Brian's back. "I'm pretty sure I saw Nick actually make it to the stage, but it's been practically half an hour."  
  
"God, I don't know," Brian groans, and finally turns around, slumps onto the floor with his back still pressed against the door. Howie joins him there, a second later, and he can feel the thump-thump-thump of banging fists, like a too-frantic heartbeat just under his skin. "We're talking about AJ and Nick. They probably decided it would be a good idea to jump back into the fray."  
  
"Children," Howie sighs, but it comes out sounding like a chuckle. "I can't believe we only made it as far as the janitor closet."  
  
"I can't believe we both lost our cell phones," Brian counters.  
  
"How long do you think it'll take them to come looking for us?"  
  
"I'd give it till tomorrow morning at least," Brian says, mock solemnly, and Howie sighs.   
  
"Hey," Brian says, and he's grinning a little now, the side of his mouth curved in a way that makes Howie's stomach jerk. "Now you know we still got it."  
  
Despite himself, Howie laughs, and tucks his head into the crook of Brian's shoulder without prompting. He doesn't feel thirty-seven at all.   
  
  
  
Things are looking a little less rosy an hour and fourteen minutes later, after they decide to poke around the room in the hopes of finding a hidden window. Or a secret passageway.   
  
They're armed with nothing but cleaning supplies and empty stomachs, and Howie groans when Brian upends his broom and carefully nudges the fallen stack of old newspapers.  
  
"Brian!" he protests, but he's upending his mop, too, just in case.  
  
"If there's a rat in here, there's gotta be a way out, Howie," Brian says, absently, inching closer so he can flip the newspapers over, page by page.   
  
Howie isn't entirely sure he's convinced by Brian's line of reasoning, and he opens his mouth to say--  
  
But then Brian's stretching forward, shirt riding up his back to expose a sliver of skin, just above the waistband of his jeans, and Howie's suddenly willing to go along with it for now.  
  
"Oh my god," Brian says, and Howie blinks, snaps his hand back from where it'd been reaching out. "There's a whole nest of them in here."  
  
Howie's stomach picks an unfortunate moment to growl.  
  
Brian looks up at him, eyebrow raised.  
  
Howie thwaps Brian over the head with his mop.  
  
  
  
They leave the nest alone in favor of the packet of Skittles that turns up unexpectedly in one of Brian's jean pockets.   
  
"They're never going to find us, Howie! They're going to look in all the wrong places, and we're going to starve! Oh my god, we're so going to _die_ in here," Brian whines, head in Howie's lap as he pops another skittle.   
  
Howie has to remind himself not to watch the way Brian's mouth is turning red. He threads his fingers through Brian's hair instead, hums low and soothing and says, "We're not gonna die, okay. They'll come looking for us eventually. The girls will be a dead giveaway."  
  
Brian perks up a little at the thought. "How many of those girls do you think would want to have sex with me?"  
  
"Uh," Howie says, blinking, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck.  
  
"No, you're right," Brian says, nodding. "It's totally all of them."  
  
"Totally," Howie says, nodding back, just as gravely, once he finds his voice.  
  
"I like this game," Brian decides, smiling up at him. Howie's fingers catch in time with his breath. "I'm a dead ringer for 12-year-old Nick."  
  
Howie is hard-pressed not to agree. "You're a dead ringer for right-now Nick," he says, and grins when Brian huffs out a laugh.  
  
  
  
They wind up playing spin the mop mostly out of desperation ("You can't play _I Never_ without the vodka, Howie," Brian explains, patiently, and Howie says, "And you shouldn't play _Truth or Dare_ once you stop going for slumber parties."). There's only so long Skittles can tide you over.  
  
"This isn't going to work," Brian says, two seconds into their first round. He's frowning at the mop. "I'm not making out with the rat's nest."  
  
"No, yeah," Howie says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Of course not."   
  
"So," Brian says. The end of it lilts into a question.  
  
"Uh," Howie says, and Brian must hear the _yes, yeah, yes, okay_ that comes with it, because he smiles - and god, Howie's stomach is in knots - murmurs, "yeah," under his breath, and then he's trapping Howie against the wall with his mouth and palms and chest, all warm, wet heat and slow intent.  
  
For a second, Howie forgets how to breathe.  
  
Then Brian pulls back, studies him, eyes dark and demanding when he says, "Why haven't we done this before?"  
  
"Uh," Howie says, intelligently.  
  
"We'll figure that out later," Brian says, and reels Howie in again. They switch to Seven Minutes in Heaven, after that (or a longer variation, anyway, because when Nick and AJ fumble the lock open, two hours later, they're still going at it.)


	34. Kevin/Chris and a happily ever after

If you check Kevin's internal dictionary for the definition of 'slob', you'd probably find 'Chris' slotted neatly under it. Even without Kevin's "anal-retentive shit", as Nick has so affectionately dubbed them, it would be a pretty hard thing to miss. It doesn't take sixteen months to figure out that Chris isn't going to stop leaving his used mugs on the bedside table, or start capping the toothpaste when he's done with it. Kevin's stopped even trying to get Chris to close the door behind him when he's in the bathroom - he knows a lost cause when he sees one.  
  
Still. There are some things that just aren't _right_.  
  
"If I wanted to live with a farm animal," Kevin says dryly, as he eyes Chris' bowl of cereal where it's balancing precariously on the edge of the coffee table in his living room, "I would've stayed in Kentucky."  
  
Chris waves his spoon, and Kevin sighs as milk dribbles down the side of his couch. "I wash your clothes," he points out. "So you can quit your bitching."   
  
"Oh yes, my clothes," Kevin deadpans. He's already lost three pairs of his favorite socks to Chris' heavy-duty washing. Now, he carefully keeps his socks in the highest cabinet in his closet. "I would be entirely lost without you."   
  
"Damn straight," Chris nods. Kevin just rolls his eyes, and Chris sort of does a half tumble to clear some space for him on the couch before motioning him over with a little snort. "Would you relax? I've stopped eating the cereal straight out of the box. Work with me here."   
  
Kevin shakes his head. "You know, of all the boybanders I could've picked--"  
  
"Hey," Chris protests, as he waves his spoon threateningly over Kevin's (very expensive) rug. "Do I have to call the boys up for another intervention? I swear to God, Kev, if I have to tell Howie you don't trust his taste in men one more time..."   
  
"That must have been painful," Kevin says, evenly.  
  
"You didn't see it," Chris says, gravely. "It was like a physical blow."  
  
"Shut up," Kevin grumbles. He has to clench his jaw to keep his mouth from twitching. "Are you going to finish your damn cornflakes or not?"   
  
"All right, grumpy," Chris smirks. His hand is a warm, sure weight on Kevin's thigh for a second, before it slips away. "Hold your horses."   
  
Kevin's never actually pictured himself as the domestic bliss type, and Chris is about as far from 'bliss' as a person can get, but it's not so bad like this: sharing the couch as they watch whatever program is on the Discovery Channel ("Compromise is not supposed to mean torture," Chris protests), Chris' elbow brushing against his thigh every time he leans over the couch for more cornflakes.   
  
It's even better when Chris nudges him with his toe, spoon caught between his teeth as he grins, and says, "So how about that blowjob we talked about last night?" before reaching over and tugging Kevin close.  
  
Kevin figures there's a lot you can get used to in sixteen months. Losing Chris isn't one of them.


	35. Early days Kevin/Chris

Chris never thought this would be a walk in the park. Hell, he never even thought it would be easy. He'd been prepared to sacrifice for it, though: time with his family, a stable income, picking up random guys. But fuck, it gets lonely out here on the road, so far away from home, even with the rest of the guys around 24/7. People don't even speak English here, and calling home seems like too much of a luxury, what with their nonexistent fan base.   
  
He's up brewing a cup of coffee the first time it happens. His cell phone - yeah, he has one now - buzzes in his pocket, and he picks it up without even thinking to check the caller ID. "Hello?"  
  
"Kirkpatrick? It's Kevin. Kevin Richardson." A beat. "The backstreet boys?"  
  
It takes Chris a second to get over his confusion. "Yeah," he says, when he finds his voice. "I know you. You're only our biggest competition."   
  
"Right," Kevin says. His tone makes it clear Chris is anything but. "Look, this is a pretty out of the blue, but I heard you're meeting with Lou tomorrow for your one-on-ones. I just wanted to give you a heads up: you don't want to leave Justin alone with him."  
  
Chris frowns. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"  
  
Kevin pauses.  
  
"I've got a degree in Psychology," Chris tells him. "Trust me, I understand about confidentiality."   
  
It takes Kevin a couple of false starts and the rest of the night to explain about Nick.  
  
  
They get to talking a lot more, after that. It turns out that embarrassing bandmate stories never get old. It's the first time since they've gotten to Germany that Chris doesn't feel totally alone. And Kevin isn't exactly subtle, besides. It only takes him three phone calls before he's hitting on Chris, like any regular Southern gentleman. Chris is surprised when he realizes he isn't.  
  
And some nights, when he isn't feeling like a pathetic loser, he even flirts back.  
  
  
It's two months before Chris finally gets to meet Kevin in person, at some charity thing that Lou insists will be good for exposure. Chris is too glad to actually have something _booked_ that he doesn't even care if the logic behind it is sound. The show goes well - goes _great_ , in fact, the entire stadium on their feet and JC trying not to be obvious about swiping at his eyes - and after, after, Chris' pulse roars in his ears, and his skin is clammy, and he doesn't even think to _not_ walk over, when he sees Kevin there watching him.   
  
"I don't have time to date," he tells Kevin, candidly.  
  
Kevin looks at him like he's grown a third head. "Okay," he says, slowly, each syllable slow and drawn out.  
  
"Yeah," Chris says, fists clenched. He's already steeling himself for it - the big, fat, fucking _no_. "I share a bus with four other guys - which means I'm probably going to share this fucking abnormal, incestuous bond with them for the rest of my life that no one's going to be able to touch - and we're fucking wet behind the ears, and this is our first performance, this shithole of a place, and we may not ever amount to anything. And even if we do? Right now we sleep in the same bunks more often than not, because Justin's only a fucking teenager and he gets homesick, and JC doesn't like sleeping alone, so--"  
  
"Yeah," Kevin says. The corners of his mouth are curved, just a little. "I'm probably the last person you need to be explaining any of this to."  
  
"Huh," Chris says. "So you're saying...?"  
  
"I'm saying I understand and I don't care. I'm saying it gets better," Kevin promises. And then he leans in and cups the back of Chris' neck, and kisses him, and then kisses him some more, and Chris' heart is pounding against his ribs as he thinks, fuck yeah, it just might.


	36. Chris/JC toast

JC wakes up to the smell of burned toast.  
  
It's only when he pads his way to the kitchen, eyes still blurry with sleep, that he realizes his mistakes. The toast isn't burned. It's _burning_.  
  
Chris is standing over the toaster, smoke billowing up around him as he tries to reach the plug at the very edge of the wall. He must have moved the equipment around while he was trying to set things up, though, because every time he leans in, the bottom of his arm brushes up against the top of the toaster and he has to pull back. JC stands in the doorway, half-grinning, and lets Chris do this about four more times.   
  
"What the hell are you trying to do?" he says, with a laugh, after Chris' thirtieth, pathetic, "Ow! Fuck!"  
  
"What?" Chris startles. He bangs his elbow against the counter as he spins around. "Ow! Motherfucking--how are you even _up_?"  
  
JC comes into the kitchen, then, and stretches over Chris' shoulder to switch the toaster off. "I have a Chris sense," he says, as he waves the smoke away. "It knows when you need me."  
  
Chris snorts, and JC bites back another smile as he looks Chris over. Chris is -- he looks like he just stuck his head in the shower, and there are little wet patches all over his shirt; there are small puddles of water collecting on the floor. JC's mouth twitches when he sees their emergency footstool and a broom pushed up against the wall behind Chris. "Smoke alarm go off?" he asks.  
  
Chris pauses in his attempts to clean himself up to scowl. "Shut up."   
  
"Chris Kirkpatrick, director extraordinaire," JC teases, even as he slings an arm around Chris' stomach and nuzzles his face into Chris' neck. "All that money and you couldn't buy yourself someone who could teach you how to make toast?"  
  
"See if I ever try to do anything nice for you again," Chris grumbles, but he doesn't hesitate when he leans back into JC.  
  
JC's smile softens. This is typical Chris.  
  
Typical Chris, who's a multi-millionaire now, with a string of successful cult movies under his belt and about three other projects simultaneously underway. The first thing he'd done with his money was buy a newly-renovated mansion for his girls, and each one of them has an extra piece of property filed under their names for when they turn 21. The second was take JC for a weekend trip to Florida (he'd put his foot down at Disneyland).   
  
Fame's been kind to them, and for the most part, nothing's changed. Chris is still pretty much the same Chris JC's known all his life. He drinks the same beer, watches the same kind of unpretentious movies, lives in the same old ratty apartment (JC moved in a month after the trip, and in the time he's been here he's discovered that the heater doesn't work more often than not, their door hinges creak, and Chris still doesn't have enough shelves for his DVDs - which is why half his collection shares their queen-sized bed with them).   
  
He's still a disaster in the kitchen.  
  
"Why don't you come back to bed?" JC murmurs, as he curls his fingers loosely around the fabric of Chris' shirt, then presses his mouth to the underside of Chris' jaw. "And let me say thank you properly."  
  
Chris squirms a little, but he doesn't put up any real resistance, and he's definitely grinning when he says, "There's a lot of thanking you should be doing."  
  
JC grins all the way back to bed.  
  
Later, after, when Chris has fallen back asleep, JC gets up and goes to make him pancakes.


	37. AJ/Justin having a domestic tiff

It's nothing new, this pattern of fucking and fighting. It's a little like gravity, keeping them centered, this inevitable force. Justin sighs, leaning against the doorframe to their room, and curses his pathetic resolve. He pauses for a second longer, then caves. Knocks.  
  
"No one's here," a muffled voice calls from inside.  
  
"Stop being an asshole," Justin calls back, through the closed door. "I'm here to apologize." _For the thing I didn’t do_.  
  
There's a pause, shortly followed by muted rustling and the sounds of cursing, more rustling, and then the door slides opens and AJ appears. There are dark shadows beneath his eyes, and he slouches against the side of the wall when he says, more sleepy than anything else, "Do it and leave."  
  
Justin shakes his head with a half-smirk, taking a step forward. "Missed me that much, huh?"  
  
AJ manages an impressive snort for someone who looks dead on his feet, giving Justin (what Justin assumes is) an expression of incredulity. He steps back and starts to slam the door shut.  
  
"You really are an asshole," Justin mutters, as he sticks a hand out to stop the door. "I'm sorry, okay?"  
  
"About the asshole thing? Pot, kettle, black, Timberlake," AJ snaps, pushing at the door more insistently. "And no, not okay. You ruined my fucking term paper _with a can of Coke_. Now fuck off. I want my sleep."   
  
Justin gives an exaggerated sigh, pushing back against the door just as adamantly. "AJ, come on. I apologized."  
  
"Yeah," AJ says, unmoved. "Now's when you exit, stage left."  
  
Justin just elbows his way in, then turns to shut the door behind him. He nudges AJ back against the wall, leans their foreheads together when AJ doesn't put up more than a token protest. "I'm sorry," he says again, softer. "That your paper was ruined. Is that why you look like the walking dead?"  
  
AJ glares as he leans back, folding his arms across his chest, though he’s looking more ragged by the minute, and he doesn't even attempt to push Justin back again. "Well, considering I spent the past two nights rewriting that 20% essay due this morning? And, oh, had to go through all my research and cite all the—you know what, forget it. Are you leaving yet?"  
  
"Huh. How's no?" Justin grins, despite the fact that AJ still looks like he would kill him if he had the energy. "C'mon," he tries again, gently tugging AJ back to the bed. "I'm forgiven. Give it up."  
  
AJ doesn't protest, just lies down uncharacteristically obediently where Justin guides him, closing his eyes before he's even settled in. "You did spill that coke," he murmurs, half-heartedly, as Justin curls up against him.  
  
Justin laughs a little, then sighs as he shakes his head. "If you say so."  
  
AJ never hears it, already fast asleep.  
  
In the morning, they have make-up sex. Twice. And Justin can't help grinning as he thinks, _just like gravity_.


	38. Flirty JuNi

Nick's sneakers squeak across the library floor as he makes his way over to Justin. "Hey," he says, looking around at the mess of books sprawled out across the table.   
  
"Hey," Justin says, looking up to give Nick a roguish grin.  
  
Nick swallows, hard, and sets his bag down next to Justin's. He settles into a chair, like they didn't spend the whole of their last tuition session making out. Justin reaches over, then, snags Nick's hand in his own. "Hey," he says, again. "How's your day going?"  
  
Nick stares for a second, distractedly, but eventually his fingers curl in Justin's. "Getting better," he concedes, watching Justin's thumb run over his knuckles. "This tuition session contributed to that." He thinks about Justin's mouth, warm and demanding on his own, and ducks his head past the heat rising in his cheeks. "A lot."  
  
"Well," Justin replies, grinning wider. "You've made the library the highlight of my day, so I guess we're even."  
  
"Yeah." Nick glances back up at Justin, smiling again. "Something like that."  
  
Justin lowers his voice when he speaks again. "I have no idea how I'm going to concentrate today," he murmurs, and the way Justin's looking at him, Nick's pretty sure he knows exactly why.  
  
He blushes some more, disentangling their fingers so he can hide his face behind a book. "Um," he says, eloquently. "Well--what did you learn today?”  
  
"That I have the scent of your cologne on my blue shirt," Justin says, with a lopsided smile, as he leans back in his chair. "That it's impossible not to think of you. That every time I open my Math book all I can hear is your voice in my head telling me to give you a little more to work on."  
  
"Justin," Nick says, swallows again. Justin grins. The silence stretches, and eventually Nick pulls out a couple of books to occupy his hands before he does something crazy, like lunge across the table to taste Justin's smile. "Maybe we should try to get something done."  
  
With a quiet huff of laughter and a shake of the head, Justin moves forward, propping his chin up on his hand. "All right, I get it. No more romantics till we're off school grounds. Can't blame me for trying."  
  
"I didn't mean--" Nick says, awkwardly, waving a hand.  
  
"Nick," Justin laughs, quietly, before Nick can continue. "I _know_. Relax. Dating isn't Math, you know—there are no rules. _And_ it's supposed to be fun."  
  
"Math is fun," Nick protests, weakly. Justin just grins at him, again, and Nick feels his stomach clench. On some crazy burst of courage, he adds, "Are you free after this?”  
  
Justin's grin widens, then, and his impossibly blue eyes somehow seem even bluer. "I thought you'd never ask."


	39. u is for uterus

it's not totally unexpected. not really. he'd had this test done years ago when he'd begun to suspect - just to be sure, and the doctor had called him up personally when the results had come in. so yeah, jc's been prepared for the news for a while.  
  
so it's not totally unexpected when he wakes up one morning, goes into the bathroom, and realizes he has nothing to aim with.  
  
he sits.  
  
and then he calls a house meeting.  
  


  
"you grew a  _what_?" justin demands. " _when_?'  
  
"i know we've talked about how dreams and reality don't mix, 'c," joey says.  
  
"should i call someone?" lance asks.  
  
jc just smiles at them all, totally unruffled. "seriously, you guys. i can show you, if you want."  
  
"huh," chris says, eventually. "how about a test-run?"  
  
jc perks up.

  
  
it's kind of weird. it's not that they've never done this before, him and chris, it's just--they're doing this with different parts. and a lot of condoms. and jc's even on the pill ("we're not taking any chances," joey said).  
  
the sex isn't bad, even with chris on top, even with chris being kind of gentle, even with chris tongueing at his ear the entire time (okay, that last part is pretty normal).  
  
"huh," chris says, when it's over, and rolls off of him.  
  
jc's quiet for a second too.  
  
"lance thinks this is a bad idea," chris says, eventually.  
  
"lance thinks everything is a bad idea," jc points out.  
  
"true," chris admits. then, "you didn't grow a vagina just to get my attention did you?"  
  
"what?" jc says. " _no_."  
  
"oh, good," chris says, and rolls over to kiss him. "because, just so you know, you already had it."


End file.
